The Strange Twists of Fate
by Inconspicuous Acuity
Summary: Morrowind novelization attempt. A prisoner is deported in Vvardenfell, for reasons seemingly out of her humble reach. How will she deal with this strange new land, especially when she finds herself unwillingly responsible for its safety?
1. Another End, Another Beginning

_"Each event is preceded by Prophecy._

_But without the hero,_

_there is no Event."_

-Zurin Arctus, the Underking

* * *

_In the waning years of the Third Era of Tamriel, a prisoner born on a certain day to uncertain parents was sent under guard, without explanation, to Morrowind, ignorant of the role he was to play in that nation's history… _

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE**

**Another End, Another Beginning**

There was unspeakable beauty behind the veil of red, behind the many characters inscribed on it, runes and symbols that she could not recognize, though they rolled and flowed in orderly columns and rows in front of her eyes. Some cliffs loomed in the distance beyond with an air of ancient guardians, however unclear and distorted their forms might have appeared to her. All cried at her to come, all wished her to be there, and she herself wanted to see, to end the torment of not knowing things.

The vision was teasing her. It only allowed the eye to see enough for the heart to crave, for a long-lost memory to be touched and shift; then, before recognition could occur, before a connection could be made, the eye was denied more detail and the memory was sent back to its distant corner. It hurt to feel this helpless, so enraptured and willing to do as the tempter bid, to venture closer and discover, only to be sent back by the same thing that beckoned so strongly.

The odd part of it all was she could still think, but no fiber of her responded to her commands. She had been reduced to an admirer and a philosopher... a spectator who could issue judgments which, though valuable, were otherwise unable to produce change. She was a disembodied entity trying to reach for its material plane, where it could recover its physical form, yet entrance to the material could only be granted if you already had a body. She was... stuck in a paradox.

The veil between her and that beautiful world was, in itself, sinister. Its color, blood-red, had the silken transparence of the thinnest exotic cloth... that was why her mind had named it a veil in the first place. It was meant to draw a border... and the shifting runes inscribed upon its surface looked like the warning that bid any outsider to stay away. And she was an outsider. And still, the calm and tranquility beyond... if only she would be allowed to commune with it for a second and know what it was.

When the voice made itself heard in the surreal space isolating her from the rest, she found that she had almost been expecting it. An expressionless generalization of all beings, was speaking and it erased the borders and differences between things so thoroughly that it could be coming from nearly anyone and anything. All differences but one. There was one label, of all, that she could apply to it: 'female'. Like her, she reasoned, though that mattered not.

"They have taken you from the Imperial City's prison," it said with the majesty of something beyond divine, beyond what she had ever pictured the Gods themselves would sound. A different kind of majesty than the holy. "First by carriage and now by boat. To the East, to Morrowind," it finished evenly.

_Tell me something I don't know,_ her own thoughts echoed hollowly through the equally distorted mind, and somehow she knew that the lips of a far-away body, her own abandoned sanctuary, were smirking. But the veil was there, though the images were now changing and showing her more of what she could not reach, could not have. Life... a flying form, but one who flew at its own will, not blocked by a barrier like the one in front of her. It all was there to remind her teasingly: voiceless spirits are not heard, my dear.

"Fear not, for I am watchful," the imposing entity of everywhere continued to speak with the communal voice of all things. And indeed, she felt watched and powerless, unable to return the look. "You have been chosen," it announced briefly. The runes quickened their pace and the rows soon came to an end; as they drifted away, the very last became regular words: "Many fall, but one remains." She saw them clearly and they loomed in front of her purposefully, before a flash of lightning tore through the red veil and released her spirit.

Everything went blue and watery, as the prison, instead of opening, sank below into the waves, while rain impacted the surface and caused innumerable ripples. More lightning danced above, revealing islands in a distance no less unreachable than that of the cliffs, and no less attractive and beckoning either.

But unlike the runes had failed to do for the veil, the ripples breached the water's integrity slowly, forming a small round crack in the center, as she could hear another voice, this one human and male, emotion-filled and insecure, albeit distant. "Wake up, we are here," he said distressfully.

A dream it had been then. Her own dream and she could not control it; she had let it control her instead. Yet, she could not deny how authentically wet, cold and empty she felt, despite it being just the dream. Bitterly, she dove for the widening crack, her own effort speeding the process with which the rupture grew. "Why are you shaking?" the man continued to voice his concern. "Are you okay? Wake up!"

The water ceded and she tore through it, plunging headfirst back into her body... and into reality. Avidly, she breathed the stale air in the ship's hold, while the tall Dunmer she had heard the soldiers call Jiub helped her up. "Stand up, there you go," he said, still a bit unnerved, despite how comforting he tried to sound. "You were dreaming."

She looked to him and nodded, both to show she had acknowledged his words and to confirm the fact that she could now stand on her own feet. He let go of her cautiously, ready to return, should she falter; she did not, and so he stayed away. "What's your name?" he asked, hesitantly.

She raised an eyebrow his way, wondering if she had been the only one paying attention to what the guards said. Finally, when she realized the guards hadn't said her name, after all, not once during the entire journey, she replied. "I am Artania..." Normally, she would have added her last name to that, but given certain circumstances from her past, she stopped there before she had to bother explaining how two families both claimed to be her parents and how the last name was actually uncertain in her case. "Well, Artania," she ended unceremoniously.

Jiub looked quite intrigued, but he didn't seem the type to pry into things, and so Artania relaxed. "Well," the Dunmer changed the subject casually. "Not even last night's storm could wake you. I heard them say we've reached Morrowind. I'm sure they'll let us go."

Morrowind. The woman frowned slightly as she remembered what the dream had been all about: their trip was coming to an end, as they had been announced the other day. Apparently, they were there now. She would soon find herself on foreign ground, for a purpose she could not begin to fathom, though apparently the Emperor himself had ordered that she should be deported there. _Better than prison, I guess,_ she reasoned, but the thought didn't sound confident in her mind.

Just as she wanted to speak again and ask Jiub something, the Dunmer raised his hand to quickly press a warning finger to his lips. "Quiet," he whispered, falling into a casual stance again. "Here comes the guard."

Indeed, Artania could look to her right, now conscious of the resounding footsteps she had previously been oblivious to, and she was able to see the approaching form of an armored Imperial man. His stride was formal and his attitude toward the two distant; he eyed Jiub for a second, then discarded him immediately and stopped before the woman. "This is where you get off," he announced indifferently. "Come with me."

Without providing any more information, the guard turned away in the calm fashion they were all trained to do so, and he began to make for the opposite end of the ship's lowest level, where a wooden board served for a stairway leading above. Artania looked a bit distressed by the rush and cast a glance to Jiub, seeking her support with the Dunmer. "You better do what they say," he advised quietly. That and a nod was all their goodbye.

Artania hurried to snatch her worn leather backpack from a corner of the hold. It didn't contain much, having in mind prisoners had little possessions, but the few things that were in it had sentimental value for the woman. The first was her journal, accompanied by the appropriate writing tools; she had never been weak-minded, but solitude could cause even the brave to resort to such a confident. The only other object was a small silver brooch, given to her by someone dear; once upon a time, it had been adorned with a diamond, but such things did not last long in prison. Someone stronger had taken the small gem and Artania was lucky to have been left with as much as the jewel itself. Sighing away the pain of such memories, she clutched the bag to her chest and then began to follow the guard, who had stopped a few feet away to wait for her and was growing impatient already.

The Imperial led the woman to the ship's upper room and pointed her to a hatch above her head; this time, there was a proper ladder, unlike the slippery platform she'd almost lost her balance upon earlier. Artania took a brief note of the Nord woman, one of the crew, having lunch in a recluse corner. "Get yourself up on deck," the guard's tone grew almost hostile when he saw her staring at the food longingly, even if he still tried to keep it formal. "And let's keep this as civil as possible."

_I love you too,_ Artania thought with a small eyeroll as she climbed the stairs and pushed the hatch open, emerging into full sunlight for the first time in ages. She had been in prison for a while, with only a patch of sky to admire through a tiny barred gap in the wall; then, they had come for her at night and, by one of those enclosed prison carriages, they had escorted her to the ship, where she had been forced to spend all her time down in the hold with Jiub. She stretched most relievedly as the hatch slammed shut behind her, reveling in the warm feel of the sun as it caressed her extremely pale skin. This didn't look bad at all.

"Good morning," came a familiar voice from her right, teasing in a friendly manner. It was a middle-aged Redguard, another of the soldiers deployed as escort, but one who had found a bit of sympathy for her and had been bringing her bits of food every now and then, that were better than just bread. On a couple of occasions, they had even talked and he had told her about Morrowind, as little as he knew. In turn, she had recounted a few tales of what she had done here and there, entertaining the man. Friendly affection had formed most naturally.

Artania turned to look at the brown-skinned man with a ruefully weak grin on her face, noticing that the rest of the crew had already gone away and the deck was empty, save for the two of them. Then, she skipped over to him for a hug. He was fully armored and a lot taller than her, so it all came out as pretty awkward, but he indulged and lifted her from the ground, spinning her round for a short moment. Once he had placed her back down, she pulled away and reluctantly looked over to the small village she could see on shore, unfolding before her eyes. It had a few stone buildings, the most imposing of which were right there, at the docks, and a score of wooden shacks in a deplorable state of disrepair.

"Good to finally see you out, kid," the Redguard tapped her shoulder gently, interrupting her study of the settlement.

Artania gritted her teeth at the appellative and cast a dark glare to the man, which only caused him to smile; that was enough to melt any intention of looking upset she might have had. "Thanks," she replied sincerely, though her insecurity as to what to do next leaked through.

"This is where they want you," the Redguard carefully pointed her to one of the stone buildings, the only one accessible from the docks, due to tall wooden fences that had been built to bar the other two ways. "Head down to the dock and he'll show you to the Census Office."

Only then did Artania notice the other soldier, an Imperial, complete with uniform and accordingly marked plate armor. The man stood at their end of the long wooden dock, patiently waiting, probably for her to come down. "I'll miss you," she said regretfully, then turned away quickly before she got too mushy and marched down the boarding platform.

The 'welcome committee' greeted her with a formal nod. "You finally arrived," he said. "But our records don't show from where."

Artania raised a brow, in that specific roguish fashion of hers, wondering whether the man had hit his head or something, then cleared her throat. "Aside from 'prison'?" she asked. "Well, let me see. Where did YOU come from, eventually?" Really; where ELSE could an Imperial come from, if not Cyrodiil? Then again, soldiers were supposed to be as brainless as cattle in the first place, all except the superiors.

"I'm sure you'll fit right in," the man replied gruffly, trying his best to keep formal while on duty. He still muttered something that vaguely resembled a 'not all Imperials actually _live_ in Cyrodiil', then his voice rose again. "Follow me up to the office and they'll finish your release."

_My release into another prison, only larger,_ Artania noted for herself. After all, the province of Morrowind had a continental side as well, but they had chosen to drop her off on the island and she was surely going to be stuck there for a good long while. All departing ships were under strict control of the Imperials and they weren't likely to allow her to leave just yet, after going through so much effort to bring her.

She followed the guard as the man led her up to the building's only apparent door, at least on that side, and he instructed her to go in, which she did promptly. She found herself in a warm candlelit room with two other people. One of them, an aged and rapidly balding white-haired man in a plain brown robe, also an Imperial, just like the guard standing by the room's other door, gestured for Artania to come closer as soon as she entered. The woman obeyed, though not the mechanical way soldiers were trained to do; she did as she was told because there was no other way.

"We've been expecting you," said the man in a manner so friendly that its falseness clawed at the woman, making her irascible. "My name is Socucius Ergalla and I'll make sure you're recorded before you're officially released."

Having been in prison more than on just this single occasion, Artania was familiar with the process; she nodded unblinkingly for him to proceed.

"I will need to know a few things about you. Your profession, first?" Socucius continued.

"Not much of a profession, really," Artania replied hesitantly. "I am a rogue."

The man wiggled his nose in contempt, but nevertheless bent over his desk and inscribed something on a piece of paper, using a quill he had been holding all the time. "Not respectable," he ranted. "But it is on my list nonetheless. A moment while I check it in... here, that does it." He turned back to her, only partly. "The letter that preceded you mentioned you were born under a certain sign. And what would that be?"

"22nd of Frost Fall. The Tower," said Artania with a small smile. The respective sign was one of The Thief's charges and, coming right after the news of her profession, it made for quite a blow to the man. Surely he could not defy the orders of his superiors, but she knew for a fact that he was at least questioning their sanity.

"Interesting," Socucius mumbled as he inscribed; alas, he was too versed in his job to show as much distress as the young rogue had hoped to see. "Now," he continued, stepping aside from his table and gesturing for her to close in. "Before I stamp these papers, make sure this information is correct."

Artania approached rather timidly and cast a small look at the paper in question; there, she saw her name written clearly and in detail, both last names included, followed by a whole lot of other details about her. The words above that, though, were the ones that caught her attention most, especially "by Emperor Uriel Septim VII's decree"; they did nothing else but demonstrate how much interest the Emperor himself was taking in her and she couldn't help but wonder why. Nodding her approval to Socucius Ergalla, she drew away once more, waiting for the man to sign with all of his pompous titles and press down a patch of wax with some marking or another. Once that was done, he handed her the parchment, rolled up nicely into a tubular shape.

"Show your papers to the Captain when you exit to get your release fee," the man advised gravely.

"I will," Artania nodded respectfully. "Thank you." She slipped away quickly, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by the quantity of events piling up on top of her. Release fee? She couldn't remember being paid anything when she had been let out of prison the other times before this one. She heard the guard at the door address her, but didn't make out the words, too preoccupied with her sudden drive to just get out of their sight and take a moment to recompose herself. Closing the door behind her hastily, she was relieved to find that the short corridor beyond was empty.

She closed her eyes and stood there, using the wall for support, to catch her breath, which the sudden burst of emotion had caused to accelerate. She could feel her heart pounding rapidly in her chest, with... was it fear of the unknown? Mechanically, she pulled herself away and with her she dragged the bag, which she had not strapped to her shoulders yet and wasn't going to, with how weak and hollow she felt at the moment.

The young rogue went past a doorless entrance and didn't grant too much attention to the room it opened into. She considered the exit should be at the end of the corridor, and so she opened the door there, only to find herself standing at the border of what looked like a cellar illuminated by two torches, except it wasn't below the ground. A couple of wine barrels were stacked by the wall, with buckets at the ready, while the other side of the small room hosted a bedroll surrounded by wicker bins and a bunch of sacks.

For a few moments, Artania considered getting drunk out of her mind until she could collapse senseless into the bedroll and sleep herself straight into death. W_ouldn't that be an easier path?_ She thought bitterly._ But nooo, I have to go out there and be the Emperor's little pawn in... whatever small scheme he has in mind._ She kept from spitting her disgust out at the floor and shuffled away from the room, back to the other one, that she had discarded earlier.

There was, indeed, another door there, which she assumed to be leading outside. However, her interest was rapidly piqued by other things, such as, per example, the shiny silverware on the rafters to the left and on the table, and the recently cooked crab meat enthroned on one of the plates._ It's your fault I'm so hungry, after all,_ she thought to a bunch of invisible Imperial guards as she seated herself in front of the respective plate and picked up the fork and knife.

She ate quickly, a feat made even easier by the unnerving combination of hunger and fear she would get caught, then stood back up. During her meal, she had examined the other objects on the table, and she didn't feel too guilty when she opened her bag and ushered a rusty old dagger, a lockpick and the bottle of flin she had noticed, as well as a few chunks of bread, inside; then, after a bit of consideration, she gave the same path to the silverware itself. Just as she thought her work was done, she discovered the small chest on one of the shelves and found it all too tempting.

The object was negligently armed with a simple lock and one equally simple maneuver with the pick broke it open in no time. Artania didn't fail to congratulate her instinct when her eyes fell on the gold pieces inside. She snatched them quickly and shoved them in the bag with the rest of things, keeping only her papers out, then closed the leather cover over it all and hurried out of the room with the most casual of innocent looks. She couldn't deny, as she was dragging her slightly heavier bag, that these new events had done something to alleviate her sorrow. Stealing was simply so much sweeter when the objects belonged to the officials; in fact, the only better targets were rich nobles.

She didn't know exactly what she had been expecting, but the small interior courtyard she now found herself in, with its tall stone wall and pretense of grass patches, was demoralizing. Sighing heavily, the rogue made her way across, to the other, smaller building on the opposite side. She could have jumped the wall, but she wasn't sure there weren't any guards on the other side, and on top of that, she wasn't officially free yet and she didn't want to be on the run.

Caught up in her thoughts as she was, she strayed from her direction a little and failed to notice it, returning to reality only when she stumbled upon a wooden barrel and crashed to the ground right along with the object. Cursing, she massaged her bruised knee, noticing for the first time how deterred and filthy her clothes were, torn and clumsily patched in a hundred places as they appeared; she was going to need a new set, and real soon – how would she ever walk the streets like that until she got to buy some, anyway?

Just when the foul mood was returning in full and she began to stand up, she saw the shiny little object in the grass. It was the known faint glow of enchantment, coming from a ring; the jewel had been inside the barrel, having rolled out when the container had crashed and its lid had come away. Smirking, the rogue picked it up and dropped it in a worn side-pocket of her flimsy bag.

Standing up, she dusted herself, though it didn't really matter, with all the old stains on her clothes, and then entered the building. The room beyond the door was small and dimly lit, containing a few stacks of shelves and a table, all crowded with paperwork and quills. An Imperial guard, obviously higher in rank, by his uniform armor suit, than the others she had seen, stood resolutely to her left and was watching her intently. The man eyed the bag she was holding curiously, but said nothing; if he suspected what she had done, he was choosing to overlook it, and Artania couldn't help but wonder how much that had to do with her importance to the Emperor.

"Good day to you, Captain," she said with a charming little smile, trying her best to look timid and polite. She had guessed correctly, for the man was indeed Sellus Gravius – now, where in hell did she know the name from? Ah, Socucius' guard had told her, she recalled in a blur, and her mind had reflexively recorded it, though she wasn't consciously paying attention at the moment.

"Here, let me take your papers," the man held out a hand demandingly.

"Sure," she shrugged, carelessly dropping the rolled parchment in place.

The soldier unrolled the scroll and studied it for a moment with an attentive eye. "Thank you," he said finally, placing the parchment aside on the table, with a bunch of others like it. "Word of your arrival only reached me yesterday. I am Sellus Gravius." (Artania sighed sympathetically there, thinking it prudent not to show she knew – it didn't matter how little a detail it was you knew, it was always good to appear as uninformed as possible.) "But," the man continued, seeing that she remained silent. "My background is not important. I am here to welcome you to Morrowind."

At that point, the rogue deemed it wise to attempt and pry out a bit of information from the man, but all he wished to share were facts she was already aware of. How she had been released at the Emperor's direct order and shipped to Morrowind, all for reasons he didn't know and did not want to know. However, he did mention that she wasn't free to go yet, not until she had been told what her duties were.

"I have duties?" she asked, unable to contain her surprise and sudden burst of curiosity; that caused the captain to almost smile amusedly, an act from which only his discipline and requirement to be serious stopped him.

"Yes, you do," the man replied, pointing her to a bundle of more papers. "This package came with the news of your arrival." He picked it up easily and shoved it into her arms, which received it quite confusedly, out of sheer reflex. You are to take it to Caius Cosades, in the town of Balmora."

Artania looked pathetically outraged by it all. "And how am I supposed to do that?" she asked moodily. "I am a complete stranger to this place, ignorant to whatever I may find... out there!" She pointed to the door, fervently.

The captain shrugged. "Here, you are in a small port and fishing village called Seyda Neen. Balmora is located some distance to the North. Elone, the Scout at Arrille's Tradehouse here in Seyda Neen, could give you more detailed directions on how to reach it. However, I would suggest that you take the silt strider to Balmora. Fast, cheap, safe. Cross the bridge and head east. Can't miss it."

"Silt strider?" Artania looked more than simply confused as she carefully repeated the words, uncertain if she had even understood them correctly.

"Silt striders are giant insects," the captain explained amiably. "The driver directs the beast by manipulating exposed organs and tissues. A compartment of passengers and cargo is hollowed from the creature's shell."

By that time, the look on Artania's face had switched to sheer terror at the thought, her mouth agape and eyes wide. She recomposed herself as best she could, though her next blink came about forcibly. "Assuming..." she gasped, then regained her voice when the man cast her a worried glance. "Assuming I make it to Balmora... alive... Where do I find this ... man?"

"Caius Cosades," the soldier reminded her in a dutiful fashion. "I can't tell you where to find him, but once you're in Balmora, go to the South Wall Cornerclub and ask for him. It's in the southeast section of town, on the east side of the Odai River. They'll know where to find Caius."

"I... I see," nodded Artania, though reluctant to go just yet.

"Ah," the Captain seemed to remember something. "I also have a letter for you, and a disbursal to your name." He reached for another small bundle and placed it on top of the former larger one that she was still holding obliviously. This one had the weight of gold about it. "Serve Caius Cosades as you would serve the Emperor himself," the man instructed further." Then, seeing that she wasn't going to move any time soon, he added "You're free to go."

Done on a rather cool, commanding tone, that last act brought Artania back to the real world. She nodded and mumbled some words of thanks, while drifting away from the captain to stuff the newly gained possessions in the bag, atop all that was already in there. That quite filled the old container more than it required, but at least she managed to close it once again. With a sigh heavier than any she had ever let out, the rogue pushed the knob of the only remaining door, and came out into the rather active village day.

She was free again, for whatever that was worth, but that brought her no comfort, no satisfaction; the woman almost wished she could just crawl back into her familiar corner of the prison in Cyrodiil. But this was Morrowind, a land where she knew nothing and no one; so the cold breeze coming from the nearby sea was quick to remind her. There she stood, more than simply lost – afraid. The end of her captivity had come with a new beginning, one which she wouldn't have seen coming, nor would have wanted to take place.


	2. Lucius

**CHAPTER TWO**

**Lucius**

If there was still golden, precious beauty in the Imperial City, as described in books and annals of history, then he was blind, for he could not see it. He saw corruption and neglect, he saw idleness and complacency, not only people who had long given up on striving to surpass what was expected of them, but people who did not even meet those expectances anymore. No one fulfilled a role nowadays, all expected others to do their work and leave them with the merits and rewards for it; there were so many beggars and thieves that it seemed normal populace was extinct. To what use did the palace rise from mid-city as a golden, bejeweled ensemble of towers and walls, to what use did the nobles boast of their wealth, if that was what resided in the other districts? All there was of Cyrodiil's precious capital city was a mirage, a heaven seen from the distance that became hell as one approached.

He could not believe his eyes, could not believe people were unable to notice all that; and most of all, he could not believe that once he had been as ignorant himself. He had her to thank for opening his eyes, though he had perhaps been happier living inside the illusion than he was now. Happier, but so far less aware and so far less real; he had been as much of a dream as the vision of Cyrodiil most nobles, or novel writers, or poets had. She had taught him to see life and the city from her perspective, from the southwestern banks and dockways of the Waterfront, rather than from the balconies of his parents' manor in the Talos Plaza. She had shown him the miserable prisoners residing in their dank cells below the walls and barracks where he and his merry friends partied and had a good time not doing their jobs.

And now he felt guilty. He hadn't gone to see her in a bit over a month; it was ironic, in a bitter way, how he had managed to get caught in the trivialities of the very world she had exposed to him as fake and forget about her for so long. Why hadn't he felt her absence? How could he sit by and spend pleasant time with his family and friends, when he did not know how Artania was doing anymore? Last time he had seen her, she was in one of those cells (37C if he remembered well) that the Legion was supposed to have well guarded. Of course, as a soldier captain, he knew well that they didn't; they spent their time in the structures above the underground prison, often forgetting to feed their prisoners while they got drunk every night.

Sometimes, it looked as if she was right – they hadn't been made for each other. Their relationship was one doomed to a lot of suffering over the social differences. She had pointed out to him many times how her place was with the thieves in the Waterfront, where one had to watch each step carefully or risk to never watch anything again. While his place was in the luxury of exclusive, select Talos District, or with the very soldiers that were supposed to be imprisoning those like her. Even as he had tried to bribe officials to free her from prison, she had promptly reminded him of the differences and asked him to stop and leave her where she was. She did not want to pretend to be something else, and did not want him to change his life for her either.

Perhaps she was right and they would be better off ending it all. But how could he give up on something so dear? Even the memory of how he had met her was still able, to this day, to put a smile on his lips.

"_I am so very sorry," she had said timidly, her face hidden behind the bulk of brown hair, right after bumping into him one sunny day in the Arboretum._

_He was naive back then. Her child-like beauty had been the only thing he had made note of; the rather shabby clothes she was wearing didn't take away any of it. On contrary, they added to that odd, roguish charm she emanated, especially when her big, brown eyes glowed with mischievous enthusiasm._

"_Think nothing of it," he had replied, bowing courteously._

_His question if she would perhaps like to walk with him through the natural splendor that was the Arboretum had received a most unusual and unexpected reply. The young girl had giggled and drifted away with cat-like grace as she waved him goodbye with the very pouch of gold that had been hanging at his belt only moments before._

_She had run away and entered a maze of hedges; luck had it he knew the place better than she did and, giving chase, he had made a detour only to come out right in front of her, from behind a corner. When she had run right into his arms, he had triumphantly snatched his pouch back and told her in detail of the beautiful months she would be spending in prison. Unless, that was, she did agree to walk with him for a while._

He shook his head, chasing the cloud of remembrance away for the time being, when he finally spotted an opening in the crowd and had to dart through in a hurry. A wagon of fruit pretty much nearly hit him as he passed, but he cared little; such events occurred on a regular basis, he had come out alive from this one and that was all that mattered. Again, he owed this optimistic and carefree perspective to Artania; was there anything in the normal every day world that didn't remind him of her?

He sighed, as he reached the bolted tunnel that crossed the northeastern city wall and hosted the gate to the first narrow alley of the sector above the Imperial Prison. He had been neglecting his duties lately; hadn't even showed up once to tend to his post during the last month. Of course, no one really cared, or in case someone happened to, a bribe would shut them up quickly. Those were the Imperial City's ways.

The first thing he did was head for the main bunkhouse, one of the largest buildings in the district, where the soldiers had places to sleep, train, eat and do pretty much everything else. Even gamble. He himself was guilty of having participated in more than just sleeping and eating. Thinking of that, he almost hit one other soldier who was strolling down the alley in the opposite direction. Apologizing quietly, he didn't even bother to look at the man and wished to continue, but he stopped as soon as he heard the other calling from behind.

"Psst! Cap'n Lucius!"

He stopped abruptly, a broad grin spreading over his lips. The tone of that had been mocking and much more familiar than was proper – only one man he knew would dare to do as much. So, of all soldiers in the district, he had run into his best friend and companion in... well, mostly everything he did, except those matters that were too personal. Lucius turned around to give the other a clumsy bear hug and to pat his back, as much as their fancy armor suits permitted.

"Marcus!" the guard captain exclaimed cheerfully as he let go of the other with one last rather forceful pat on his shoulder. "How have you been, old geezer?"

"Well, that wasn't very nice of you," the middle-aged, graying Marcus responded to his grin with an even bigger one of his own. "I'm not that much older than you... alright, maybe I am. But I don't look like it."

Lucius chuckled at his friend's state of denial; the man hadn't changed at all. "When am I ever nice, dear friend, when?" he asked rhetorically, shaking his head in an attempt to become at least half-serious again. "Say, do you have any urgent matters to attend or may I take a bit of your time?"

"My wife'll be waiting at home," the other said, but gave an apologetic smile. "But. When did I ever care about that, hmm?"

Both men laughed merrily as they continued on Lucius' way to the bunkhouse together; similar jokes were exchanged on several occasions as they conversed and almost everyone they knew received some measure of fond mockery, their peers that were still around included. Finally, their objective's door was reached; the sound of men singing and laughing, and even an instrument being played, reached their ears from beyond.

Lucius strove to recompose himself and cleared his throat to force the grin into disappearance. "You will excuse me while I try to actually look like a Legion captain," he informed Marcus with a wink. Then, he thoroughly checked on his sword and armor to see whether they looked proper and he was presentable, he adjusted the badges that defined his function and ran a hand through his hair, which, although an Imperial, he wore long in the Nord fashion, unlike most of the others.

Only after that 'ritual' had been gone through correctly and checked time and again did they go in. They found that the beds had been moved to the sides and stacked along the walls, as usual, while some tables had been carried to the middle of the huge room and burdened with many platters and pots and other objects of the kind. The men were oblivious to their entrance at first and continued to eat or to sip their mazte and sujamma while listening to the 'singing' of a larger group whose members were already past drunk. Also, there were a couple of equally inebriated female minstrels playing their lutes in a corner, though no one could remember where exactly they had found them.

Lucius and his friend made their way through the tumult, with the few soldiers that did notice them bowing and saluting "Captain Messalla", a much more respectful and proper address than that Marcus had used. He nodded to the left and right answering the questions about his long absence with shrugs and smiles, though his eyes remained fixed on the bundle of prison cell keys resting comfortably on one of the beds at the opposite end of the room. Finally, he ended up near enough to reach out and snatch it, his impatience growing every moment as he anticipated the meeting.

However, Marcus placed a hand on his shoulder. "I should have guessed that was why you'd come," he told him, something in the way he stared at the keys managing to distress the captain.

"I want to see her," Lucius said and spun abruptly, not needing to make an effort to be serious this time. "I've been a fool and neglected her for so long."

Marcus sulked visibly and looked at him from the corners of his eyes, in a very much thoughtful way. "Well..." the middle-aged soldier stuttered for a few seconds. "You should probably know that..." He stopped, despite the worried and expectant glare Lucius was fixing him with.

"Marcus," the captain demanded as he placed his hands on the soldier's shoulders. "What happened to her?"

"They took her away," Marcus said and shrugged the burdening hands off of him with practiced ease. "Important people from the Palace. They said they had come on the Emperor's own orders and that we weren't to know any more than that."

Lucius' arms fell back along his sides like a couple of limp sacks and he dropped the keys to the floor as he forgot about all else except one very special and pretty face that haunted his mind incessantly. He should have been there! Now she was gone and he stood no chance of finding out where. Except... "Marcus?" he began so abruptly that the other started and looked at him in surprise. "Might they have told any of the superior officers here where they were taking her? Anyone at all?"

"No," the soldier replied bleakly, shaking his head.

Lucius' remaining hope drained out of him in a single instant and his countenance grew dark and gloomy. "I see," he managed to utter. "Thank you, anyway, old friend... you told me all you could." He patted Marcus on the arm gently and turned to leave.

Meanwhile, one of the younger soldiers, whom Lucius had never seen before and who was still half-sober, had serviceably bent and retrieved the keys. He was just placing them on the bed, where they had been before, when Lucius turned to leave. "Sir," the young man stopped him in a voice that was full of emotion.

The captain turned to meet the admiration-filled gaze and he immediately knew, by the enthusiasm that possessed the young soldier, that this one could help him. "Yes?" he stopped and reversed his turn as he was inquiring politely.

"I'm sorry, Sir, but I overheard and..." The young man flushed and brought his gaze to the floor.

"You are pardoned that mistake," Lucius gestured pleasantly, his proud manner and proper behavior as the superior of these men restored. "Now, what is it you wished to tell me about it?"

"They..." the young man began sheepishly. "They haven't told anyone that is currently here where she was to be taken, but... they employed some of our men as guards for the transport. Maybe when they return..."

By that point, Lucius was beaming again and he graced the shaken youth before him with a most benevolent smile. He could feel some amount of sympathy for this one, anyway; he could remember his own first few months with the legion and how insecure he himself had been when dealing with superiors. The new soldiers always admired the higher ranking ones and saw them as heroes... until they came to blend in with the rest and realize how exactly it was that things worked around there.

"Thank you, you have been most helpful," the captain bowed shortly and formally to the simple soldier. "What is your name, young recruit?"

"Decimus, Sir. Ah... Decimus Claudius Celer." The soldier dared to look up again, his eyes almost glazed with the intense sensations of the moment, with the enthusiastic and sincere admiration.

Lucius pitied him. He dreaded the face he knew for sure he would see replacing this one when the soldier would have seen enough corruption. He sighed and nodded, with the last trace of a smile, then excused himself to both the recruit and a baffled Marcus and took his rushed leave. Suddenly, he was feeling disgusted with it all... he just wished he could be with Artania once more. Maybe kidnap her and run away to an isolated little corner of Tamriel. But those were just dreams and desires that could not be fulfilled; he would have been satisfied with just being able to find her soon.

* * *

Lucius. Yes, Lucius, the ingrate that had forgotten about her in the blink of an eye. The hypocrite who dared to claim he loved her, but had only visited her two times in her first month of imprisonment, then no times at all in the next one. Why she had kept the brooch he had given her, why she still clung to the memories of him and why she still loved him was beyond her comprehension. Why wasn't she even capable of thinking to sell the jewel now, when she needed money so much?

Artania sighed. It didn't really matter; that wasn't what she was looking for now, it was the small enchanted ring she had found in the barrel. The Bosmer before her, whose name was Fargoth, had told her how the Imperials in the Census and Excise had stolen one such object from him in what he called "their weekly 'Let's shake down Fargoth!' ritual."

She had made the connection immediately and thought of it for a few moments. She had never been one to rightfully return objects to their owners, though; much rather, she was the one who usually took them away in the first place. And still, she could use a friendly face around the village, one who would be able to direct her to places and people. "Actually, yes, I found it," she had decided in the end and had drawn her backpack open to search. Instead, she had found the brooch.

She sighed the memories away and dropped the jewel back in, resuming her search for the other one. When she finally managed to fish the small glowing ring out, she handed it over with a small but well concealed look of regret.

"You found it!" the Bosmer cried out his most obvious grateful satisfaction, while he was slipping the ring on his finger. "Amazing! Thank you, thank you!" He gestured broadly with a rather abashing amount of enthusiasm and almost swept her off her feet with a warm hug; luckily, she had just finished closing the lid over her bag once again, or the contents would have spilled out. "I'll be sure to tell the others," Fargoth ranted on as he finally let go of her, his face glowing with delight. "Especially my friend Arrille who runs the tradehouse here. Go see him, he'll be most happy to meet you now!"

That last bit of information was most useful and welcome to the woman. As she had decided earlier, she needed new clothes; the mentioned 'tradehouse' would have been the ideal place for her to begin looking for some. Except there was a little problem – she didn't know where it was and none of the locals looked too friendly.

"I would be in debt if you could point me the right way," Artania smiled as charmingly as she could. "I haven't been here before and I wouldn't know."

"That's pretty obvious," the Bosmer grinned wryly at her. "It's right there," he continued, pointing toward a building a few mere feet away, across what would have been the village's main street, had it actually been paved or stamped with cobble. "Don't try the door you see down here, though. It's the storage and it's locked. Follow the wooden walkway you see until you're on the building's other side and enter through that door there."

"Thank you, you've been most kind."

They parted ways after wishing each other to have a great day and Artania headed over for the tradehouse, doing exactly as she had been instructed. Indeed, there was another entrance on that side, facing the shore of a small river who wound its way through the village and came to pour its waters into the sea. A Nord male wearing a guard uniform was just about to go in when she arrived, but at the Imperial woman's sight he stopped and held the door open for her. She nodded thankfully and proceeded into the room beyond; he followed suit and stopped her there, by the entrance, placing a strong hand on her shoulder.

"Hail, friend," he grinned at her when she turned to face him, as radiantly as possible.

_He wants something._ Artania's conclusion had come naturally and had been instant; what else could it have been, anyway? "Yes?" she asked inquiringly.

"Hrisskar Flat-Foot, at your service," the man introduced himself as ceremoniously as possible.

"My name is Artania," the Imperial woman replied evenly.

"I've seen you talking to dear old Fargoth," the Nord tried to seem casual when he changed the subject, though in a manner that obviously pointed out his amusement. "Maybe we could discuss some business?"

"Really?" Artania sounded honestly intrigued when she cocked an eyebrow his way. _Sounds way too intelligent for a Nord. Wonder if I can ask him what potion or spell he used to get that effect._ She had to stifle a fit of laughter there and she pretended to be coughing badly.

It didn't take long for them to become friends enough for the woman to be filled in on Hrisskar's situation and how he had lost a certain sum while playing Nine-holes. Apparently, the locals, who usually paid for the guards' 'protection' had been holding back lately, especially "the little fetcher, Fargoth", and the respectable Nord was in desperate need of money. If Artania knew what was best for her, she would spend her night on top of the local lighthouse and spy on the Bosmer to see where he was hiding his money. Of course, she would get a share of the profit. _Ingeniosity? By the Gods! This Nord has to be some miracle experiment or something._

"I'll do it," the Imperial woman promised hastily, eager to just get out of the situation. Handling matters face to face had never been her thing; she could maybe find a way around this later. Or she could just do it, her conscience only went as far as two minutes of consideration.

At any rate, she was relieved when the Nord male winked conspiratorially and took off for the stairway that led to the second floor. Artania herself remained where she was, since the mentioned Arrille, a rather proud-looking Altmer, was right in front of her behind his desk, standing among a sizeable amount of objects exposed for sale on different rafters and supports.

Coincidentally, the first thing the woman's eyes fell upon was an old and rather poorly cared for Imperial chain cuirass. It was probably there in case any of the town guards needed a change and, like any other of the of the uniforms, it was marked with the Legion's insignia. Naturally, however, it didn't fail to remind her of him again, as a quite immediate effect. _Damn you, Lucius,_ she thought to herself, even as she smiled and greeted the Altmer politely.


	3. Balmora

_I must apologize intensively for the recent lack of updates. I mean, yes, I do write only when I'm in the mood for it, but I imagined I would be doing so once a week, at least. I've re-installed both Knights of the Old Republic games recently, though, and... well. Writing Morrowind isn't exactly what I'd be doing when I'm in the Star Wars mood. At any rate, here is the new chapter._

* * *

**  
CHAPTER THREE**

**Balmora**

Too few things managed to catch the eye in Seyda Neen. In a way, Artania was thankful for its small size and plain layout, because it meant there weren't so many chances she would get lost. On the other hand, it made the rogue feel out of place, used as she was to activity in the middle of a crowd where a pickpocket or cutpurse could easily get away with their crime. No matter which kind of light she shed into that place, the only characteristic of it that surfaced was how foreign and different it looked. It was not home – far from even the concept of it.

She found Balmora to be a somewhat more comforting sight, though it still looked plain and awfully reduced in size compared to what she knew. She wasn't sure if the locals would have called it a city, but to her it wasn't even a town – at least not by Cyrodiilic standards. Looking up from what one could describe as the 'station' for the silt strider, she could only see a few orderly rows of houses divided into the semblance of three districts by a river to her right and an elevation of the ground that hosted a plaza to her left. All was made of old stone, which had probably been a yellowed beige from the beginning, but had nevertheless grown to be even more so with time, while the general architectural style was simple and old-fashioned.

She was just thankful to have been granted with such a fine view from her high vantage point; at least now she would memorize the general layout and not get lot so easily. Artania was skilled with that kind of thing – one who knew every corner of the Imperial City was expected to not have much trouble with any other cityscape, not to mention this particular sorry excuse for one. Sighing, she began to climb down the two installments of steps that led to the ground. Yet again, as she had already seen from up there, the ground she found herself stepping on wasn't paved, except for the portion along the river; also, the plaza and some other streets had seemed to be tiled with cobble, but she had been too far away from it to tell for sure. For now, she would have to settle for the few blades of grass that had been flattened to the ground by the steps of many.

It was quite ironic that she noticed all these small things; she did not want to adapt to Morrowind, she wanted to go back. And yet, her survival instincts were not something she could simply tell not to work – they did so because that was why she had them in the first place. And while she could bring herself to childishly and pointlessly hate the land and mutter curses at it, the refusal to cooperate and get to know it only went as far as that. After all... how bad could it be once she got used to it? She was her own person, yes, but all those others lived there willingly; well, except perhaps the soldiers who, back in Cyrodiil, were throwing dice to decide who got the loathsome task of coming here.

Pointless concerns, all of them. The present was the only thing that mattered and Artania concentrated on that. The first building her eyes fell upon was right vis-a-vis, across the 'road' from the silt strider; the flag fluttering by the door marked it as something, but she had no idea of Dunmer language and was as good with the local writing (or whatever that was) as a blind woman. _Seriously,_ she thought to herself, _why anyone would send me, of all people, here, of all places, is beyond my comprehension. Least of all why the Emperor would have an interest in my being here._

Truth be told, she was a bit bruised and in a foul mood. Everything had seemed to go well at first; selling the silverware had gotten her an amazingly good amount of coins and she had bought a decent shirt and pair of pants, as well as a suitably crafted silver short sword, which had always been her favored weapon. But after that, things had only gone bad; first, there hadn't been any place to change so she had spotted a group of rocks she could hide behind and do so. She'd had to crawl her way through a group of pesky little creatures contained in their shells, that the locals called 'mudcrabs'; they had pinched her legs repeatedly and she had found it quite the hassle to get rid of their pursue, however slow, once their peace was disturbed. Finally, she had managed to reach the shelter behind the rocks and to change her clothes, but in the process of strapping the sword's scabbard to her belt she had stumbled and fallen. Much to her dismay, of all possible things, she had found a dead body to greet her down there, hidden behind a broad-leafed plant. Her shriek had brought the guards, then a proper commotion of curious commoners.

Apparently, the dead man was the local tax collector, and it hadn't been robbery, since all the money were still on him. She had easily slinked away from that and thought herself finally safe – only to bear witness to some madman falling down from the skies and yelling in disarray. A small book had come out of his pocket and Artania's curiosity had driven the woman to open it and read; it was his journal - apparently the poor bastard, called Tarhiel, was a mage trying to create some scrolls imbued with a spell that could carry him across great distances in a huge leap or something like that. Once her conscience had done its job and bid her to go away, the rogue had easily dismissed it and searched the broken body. Out of that all, she'd gotten three such scrolls, kept the journal, and found another sword, but the weapon, though enchanted, was too big for her to wield, and so she had sold it to Arrille for a good price.

Next thing to come, she had abandoned even the attempt to find some way around Hrisskar's task and simply left. The journey with the silt strider had come to top the entire charade and she was firm in her belief that she would avoid such transport for the future. The journey had been quite swift, she admitted as much, but the feeling that her 'vehicle' was alive had a particularly uncomfortable nuance to it. Besides, the driver was a Dunmer and she had seen enough of them for the day to know they didn't like her – at all.

And now she needed directions again. She pondered walking back up all those stairs to ask the Balmora silt strider staff – who seemed a bit friendlier – for directions to the South Wall, but the prospect wasn't appealing at all, not to her already tired feet. She just trudged away and approached the first local her eyes fell upon, a tall Dunmer wearing what she could identify as bonemold armor. It wasn't anything she had seen in Cyrodiil, but that particular soldier back home, which she shouldn't have remembered again, had books on subjects of the kind and liked to teach her about such things.

It was a local guard – Artania was at least intuitive enough to guess that by the way she had seen the man hover about the same area when she was surveying from the silt strider platform. Trouble with this particular category meant one needed to spot them effectively and know how to avoid being spotted in turn. Though night hadn't installed itself completely yet, its approach was visibly swift and the Dunmer guard in question was holding a torch and struggling to light it with a spell.

_He can't possibly know what you are,_ Artania breathed deeply as she was reassuring herself. _Just ask for directions and proceed along._

Somehow, that wasn't very comforting. What one battled for years didn't just turn into a friendly sight overnight, at the whim of a single situation. The rogue sighed. _Lucky me._

* * *

"The South Wall is a working class cornerclub, owned by a man named Bacola Closcius. It's east of the Odai river, on the south end of Labor Street." 

Those were the directions Artania had received; following them to the letter had proven fairly easy and now she was inside. Only... it was no place for the 'working class'.

Though it had a particularly private atmosphere, the South Wall Cornerclub felt far safer to Artania and allowed her to behave naturally. The people inside looked pretty much like regular patrons – some were busy with drinks, others were chatting, one was a merchant and public places like this one were always profitable. All that, to an unsuspecting and inexperienced eye. But Artania needed a single tour around the building to realize she had stumbled upon the local guild of thieves. Many Bosmers and Khajiits, a book entitled 'Honor Among Thieves' and the way everyone seemed to be slightly more aware of her presence than necessary, all those were crystal clear signs. Of course she should have known; who else would you be directed to for information, even if it was the guards that sent you? As good an opportunity as ever to seek their friendship, which she would doubtlessly need if she was to survive Morrowind.

She had sought directions to the "person she might ask about the weather" and been pointed to one of the Khajiits, who was fully dressed in chitin, excepting the corresponding helm and, of course, the boots. It was a female that introduced herself as Sugar-Lips Habasi, even as she sniffed the air to catch Artania's scent and try to guess her intentions to an extent. The rogue might have deserved the contemptuously spoken title of 'outlander' the commoners gave her, but she was no beginner here. The smile she flashed the Khajiit guild leader when she told her own name in turn was the most beneficial combination of confidence and submissiveness.

"You want to join the Guild, then?" the feline purred interestedly to her; the guess had been astute, and Artania immediately knew why Sugar-Lips was leader here. "You do look like you have some skill..." The cat eyes gave the Imperial rogue an apprehensive look, which revealed another quality of the Khajiit, that of being cautious enough, which she had seemed to lack at first.

"I might be interested," Artania said quietly and sat in place. She knew it to be in her best interest not to look desperate for a place to fit in and she mimicked the attitude of one who ponders. "I'm not sure if I want to join, but you might find me... cooperative."

The rest was a simple procedure that the rogue knew well – hear the rules, smile, nod and get admitted. Then, accept some meager task that wouldn't provide you with any information capable of endangering the guild; in her case, it was to steal a diamond from some Nalcarya of White Haven, an alchemist shopkeeper in Balmora. She accepted without any further comments. Then, she was given instructions for the case she got caught; apparently, there were a few people in the Guild who dealt with the prices on members' heads.

She wasn't overly concerned with what she was supposed to be doing – it was nothing she hadn't experienced in the past and this was her domain. Now she had a place to start building some sort of background here. She pondered giving up on that Imperial mission she had received, but it didn't seem a wise course of action. Especially when she was so close and probably didn't require much time to accomplish the delivery of one simple package. So, she sought out someone to ask about that Caius Cosades individual she needed for it.

* * *

"Old sugar tooth... lives on the north edge of town... the opposite end of the street, then up some stairs." Artania reviewed it all in a low voice to make sure she had everything right. "Yes, sounds like a proper Imperial official to me. Or worse than just those drunks..." Moon sugar was a vice less spread on the mainland, but Morrowind was famous among the common men for this particular drug, which was also used to produce a stronger one, a liquor called skooma. 

She shrugged; it was none of her business if some sorry excuse for the pretense of a reliable man was killing himself in a slow process by ingesting or smoking whatever quantity of some mind altering substance. The only thing that had ever bothered her about this was how lazy personae such as that benefited from the comfort of a tidy home and enough money to actually buy the stuff, while she had seen intelligent and skillful others forced to wander the streets and break their backs to ensure they even had food and some manner of clothes.

With a sigh, the rogue opened the door, only after peering carefully to see if the owner of the South Wall was looking. She had nothing personal against the man, but specifically telling Artania not to go through one door or another meant precisely that she would, sooner or later, do just that. Once she had sneaked out, she found herself in the cold air of early night, on a small terrace lit by two torches that were fixed to the wall, one on each side of the door. Nothing was there, except a small crate in the opposite corner, with a Dunmer man comfortably perched on it, half in the shadows.

At first, Artania thought it was another guard, due to the same set of bonemold armor, but when the man moved and she could take a good look at him, one moment sufficed to tell her he was not. He had no helm and his shoulder-length white hair was unkempt, adding something indefinite to the general impression he made. His complexion was too smooth and clear, despite its dark color, which left little doubt regarding the fact he was too young for such a serious job. Beside that, the expert way his red eyes were watching her with only apparent disinterest, and how the smirk on his lips only curled them at one corner, not both, betrayed a certain slyness that no law enforcer could possess.

The first conclusion, one Artania drew in a matter of seconds, was that she disliked this man instinctively. "Let me guess," she said coolly, when she saw his lips moving to speak. "I've run into the absolute incarnation of contempt."

He arched a thin, elegant eyebrow at her, shifting a little to come into the light for her to see his every move; if he lacked something, at least around her, that was prudence. To so easily give up the advantage shadow offered you over a stranger was daring, but foolish. "Shall we play a game of assumption, then?" he asked fancily, his low voice molding the unique inflexions of his race with those of a certain amount of classy style. "Very well. Let me make my own, then ... just joined the Guild, have you?"

Artania's countenance remained the very same; no muscle twitched, no flicker crossed her eyes and no strand of hair moved around. She had required to make use of her entire self-control to obtain that effect, but mentally repeating herself she must not fidget, bite her lip, or shift her weight was useful enough and working. "You are free to make your guesses," she responded with a light shrug and a charming little smile. She decided to take a small risk and play a card that seemed very likely to work with him – the reason of his being here was dubious, in the least. "Maybe I'm just looking for information. Maybe I'm looking for... you." Her head fell to the appropriate angle she knew would cause her features to appear sharp to him and would give her an allure of cunning.

The total of her small tricks had no effect on him at all. "The guards don't hire little outlander girls who've just arrived to Morrowind ... a couple of days ago, I fathom?" he retorted the same calm way that claimed to be semi-noble. Swiftly, he dragged himself up to his feet and stood to face her in the small square of the terrace, while a mild current whipped at both their faces from a side. He gestured to her appeasingly. "So, what drove you to join so soon?"

"I haven't joined," Artania snapped, then immediately bit her tongue to stop herself from gaining an attitude that would do her no good. The fake, distant smile returned to her and she looked at him with an innocence that, in itself, was only the thin layer covering a package of mischief. She offered another ambiguous possibility. "Maybe I've come with business for the owner, from that pretty little other club, just across the street from silt strider."

The Dunmer coughed and had to turn away from her and cover his mouth with a gentle hand, while he laughed quietly. Shaking his head, he returned to a very intrigued Artania and regarded her with a clearly disclosed amount of amusement. "Do yourself a favor, girl," he said sympathetically. "Just appear honest until you have learned your way."

The rogue sighed and gave up on all the ideas that came to her mind with pitiful little attempts of mending what she had already done to make a fool of herself. "Fine," she agreed, though she made it clear she wasn't backing off any more than one little step.

"That 'other club' you mentioned, the Council Club, is where the Cammona Tong hang out," he explained to her with a benevolence that managed to stun the Imperial woman with surprise. "They're the declared rivals of the Thieves Guild, as you will no doubt learn if you stick around."

His eyes were locked on her face and she held his gaze stubbornly, her inner fire tamed and dying now. "Why were you hiding here?" she asked, revealing the object of her new curiosity.

"I was hiding?" he teased, with a small chuckle. "Very well, I will be honest with you..." He left that hanging and grinned at her. "If you tell me your name."

Artania almost gaped, but was able to avoid actually doing it just in time; she hid it behind another little smile. He wasn't flirting with her – or was he? Oddly enough, he reminded her of an old joke involving one of the most common racial prejudices, that every kid in Cyrodiil would have known to tell. Sadly enough, since it wasn't quite fit for children.

_A Dark Elf woman,_ the joke went,_ was being shown around Daggerfall. When she was shown the magnificent Castle Daggerfall, she smiled sweetly to her guide and whispered, "It reminds me of sex." "That's odd," said her guide. "Why does our Castle Daggerfall remind you of sex?" The Dark Elf sighed, "Everything does."_

For the life of her, Artania couldn't tell why she was thinking of that. But the Dunmer's odd little bargain reminded her of Lucius and she wondered why she only found the ones that never let her have her way appealing. "My name is Artania," she said. "But don't hold me at a disadvantage and tell me yours."

"No," he smirked sweetly to her. "You wanted to know why I was hiding. It is because, obviously, there is some price or another on my head. I'm waiting for it to be clear. But my name... that was never part of our deal."

Artania's eyes widened with outrage. Not only had he refused to introduce himself, but he'd only given the obvious answer she could already imagine, not the concrete and exact explanation she expected. No one could so easily defeat her when wielding words... well, except this man here and now. She scowled at him and glared. "Why do I bother, anyway?" she asked, sighing dramatically and then turned to face the door and reached out for the knob.

"Reldar Tures," came the calm reply. "At your service. And I am hiding here and need to be cleared because I killed someone. An unfortunate... incident that left me no choice, I assure you."

Artania resigned and spun about again to face him and offer a half-triumphant shrug. For some odd reason that had to do with the Lucius in her head more or less, her heart skipped a beat when their eyes met; she had to get out of there, the effect this Dunmer had on her was distressing. "In case someone asks, I never saw you," she offered dismissively then dipped her head low for a goodbye and left before he could react. Or, more likely, fled the scene, her tired legs suddenly a good deal more willing to carry her away.

"The opposite end of the street, then up some stairs," she repeated as she made down the stairs for the proper door. _I should have listened to Bacola Closcius and not gone through that door._ But the Dunmer wasn't following; he was still on the terrace and he gave no sign that he even acknowledged her when she exited the club and looked upwards to spot him. She dismissed all thought of him with a stubborn determination and strode forth along the dark street.


	4. Here and Now

**CHAPTER FOUR**

**Here and Now**

The Dunmer had not ignored Artania's quick and unjustified departure and he had noticed her exit the South Wall to go wherever it was she really needed to be at the time. He simply did not know if she was worth the effort to pursue; in the present situation, the wiser course for him would have been not to and anyway, he guessed she would return to the Guild, later. Not even he could explain the exact reason why he thought this particular outlander was different and that she might be able to help him.

But Reldar wasn't the one to bother thinking of what might be and planning his actions any further than his next meal. He was a man of the present and near future, of what was either right there or within his immediate reach; he lived by improvising. So, he soon dropped all thought of her and re-entered, to check on how his own personal status had evolved. He had no trouble finding Phane Rielle, the Breton with powerful acquaintances and relations, who was the local member of the Thieves Guild in charge of getting prices off people's heads. The charismatic, but aged man was on the lower floor, as usual, comfortably leaning against the counter's smooth edge; his part in the pretense that the place was indeed a 'working class cornerclub' had long been the role of bartender.

"Ah, my friend," he greeted Reldar with a broad grin as soon as the Dunmer came into his view range. "Enjoying your evening? No?" He looked affected, if only for the theatrical air such an act provided for him. "Well, you can. I've solved your little problem."

The Dark Elf gave a curt nod in his general direction and considered it to be enough thanking for the news; he wasn't indebted to the Breton with anything – it had been a fair trade, a service for another. "What's on tap?" he asked quietly as his eyes scanned the room for any other new presences. He wasn't familiar enough with the regular 'clientèle' to say that there were no new faces at all, but at least he could spot nothing that looked unusual.

"Whatever you want," answered the Breton. "No skooma, of course. Not that I'm implying you would want any."

Reldar held a sigh within him with utmost difficulty; he felt too tired for Phane's antics that particular night, and he still had much to do. "Give me enough brandy to fill some three or four small goblets," he finally spoke and managed not to look a hundred percent desolate as he did so. That, though he knew the pleasantness of his prospects about how he should spend the evening would end soon and the ordeal would begin anew. There was nothing to look forward to in his present and near future this time.

* * *

He decided that the pacing should stop; after all, someone had to be drinking that brandy – not that it was anything vital, but good drinks couldn't just sit by. Managing to flash his usual smirk, Reldar came to a halt, then turned and finally took his seat at the small table on the South Wall's uppermost floor. His hand exerted its regular functions on the goblet in front of him and he downed a good, refreshing long sip of the burning liquor. From across the round wooden surface, Bacola Closcius was eyeing him warily, his own goblet in hand, absently though it was being held.

The Dunmer broke the silence that had reigned between the two of them for the past twenty minutes or more, ever since they had stopped conversing about the beneficial properties of their shared drink. "I doubt a newcomer would bolt straight for the Guild," he mused and began to hold the other man's gaze at long last as he tried to seem casual. "So, what did she truly want?"

"Hmm?" asked Bacola Closcius with a small frown. "What's that?"

"The new girl; the young, brown-haired one who just joined tonight," clarified Reldar.

"Ah," the Imperial man appeared to be taken a bit aback by the unexpected question; he had obviously been expecting another subject. "She asked about old Caius Cosades, up on the North edge of Balmora." Reldar's eyes clouded right as they stared in his own and the proprietor of the South Wall needed no more proof that the Dunmer would fall silent again. Then, the realization came. "Now, how would you even know about her?"

Reldar shrugged. "Don't worry," he reassured the other with a lazy wave of the hand, while his elbow fell gently onto the wooden surface below and stayed there. "I am sure you were eloquent enough in telling her -not- to come out on the terrace. If I still know people, it would be my guess that your warning was precisely why she -did-, after all."

"I see," the Imperial shook his head and a smirk showed in the corners of his mouth. There had always been something exquisite about this Dark Elf, an indefinite natural talent that he could not bring in the light and define; but he was fond of the man. "And what did she say that captivated you so?"

"Captivated me?" Reldar stared in wonder and one of his fine eyebrows rose slightly to form an arc. "It's not as you think; something felt odd about that one."

"Something did," Bacola Closcius agreed almost whole-heartedly. "Do you think she may be trouble for us?"

Reldar shook his head in a rather dismissive and unconcerned fashion. The Imperial relaxed – it was only rarely that his Dunmer acquaintance was wrong about such things. Indeed, despite his rather young age, the Dark Elf knew people like no other, almost as if he had a sixth sense that told him what they were thinking; it may have been natural intuition, or the result of his countless travels, during which he had no doubt seen much. Either way, silence enveloped the scene again and they both sat staring through each other, lost in their own thoughts.

Finally, Reldar stood, so swiftly that not one thing other than him moved and it seemed as if the air itself hadn't stirred at all. Or maybe it had been just Bacola Closcius' brandy-induced state of mind that made it appear that way.

"I have some matters I need to attend," said the Dunmer and it wasn't difficult to tell that he was picking his words carefully. "Tell me if I can come back here afterwards, or if I should look for another hideout first."

"You can come," the Imperial replied with a small shrug. "I doubt anything you could do can cause trouble for us here."

"We won't be on even ground anymore if that happens," Reldar continued. "Give thought to the service you wish to ask of me in return."

"I always do, don't I?" chuckled the half-drunk proprietor of the South Wall, while his head was feeling heavy, as if it had sunk in water and the rest of his body was still out.

"And stop drinking for the night," the Dunmer continued, shaking his head, then he picked up his backpack from a corner of the room and strapped it to his shoulders with one fluid move. "See you later... perhaps."

* * *

Artania considered that her newest accomplishment, of having found the home of Caius Cosades, had been far easier to reach than the previous two. She was glad to knock on the door and see the mild interior light flowing out as it came open, for the night was chilly and the fabric of her garments thin. She could see the source of that light, a paper lantern, as soon as she stepped in, under the careful scrutiny of an Imperial man aged enough for his hair to be completely white, though his face retained part of its youthful smoothness. How exactly that had come about, having in mind she had been told he consumed moon sugar, would probably remain a mystery. Or perhaps, on contrary, he was quite young and aging before his time. Either way, it was a pointless debate.

She examined him further when his back was turned to her, as he closed the door. The muscles that rippled beneath the bare skin – why did men think it was all right not to wear shirts? – denoted that he had once been doing more than just sit about and wait for packages to arrive with obscure prisoners. He was quite short, smoothly about the same height as Artania herself, though of a harder build, as was normal. When he spun again and faced her, it was impossible for her to read a thing in the deep brown of his questioning eyes – he knew as well as she did how to hide what he was thinking of.

There was no one else in the small room, the only one the house apparently had, but the two of them. They had little free space to operate in, caught between a bed and a small corner table, where the rogue could spot his skooma pipe. Ingeniously enough and much to her displeasure, he had possessed the wit to trap her between the wall, the furniture and himself, ensuring she could not hurt him if she still wanted to get away with it.

"Don't just stand there staring at me," the man said once he realized she wouldn't speak. The way he looked at her came with a bit of contempt, almost as if a measure of it had melded with his natural impatience over time and had formed an entire attitude of general disregard for everything. This man had most certainly once been a very busy individual with much to handle in a short time.

"I have this package for you... given to me by the legion captain in Seyda Neen," Artania spoke loud enough to be heard and made sure she sounded impassive and professional. She didn't want any trouble and this man looked like the sort that might make some if she caused him any disservice.

"What are you waiting for, then?" he sighed, and held out a hand. "Let me have a look at it."

The rogue could barely contain a small grin as she slipped the backpack from her shoulders, pulled it open and began to fish through it for the small bundle she was supposed to give to him. It was amazing what Imperial bureaucracy could do to people, how it could turn them into cold and calculated personae with little in the way of consideration for others. True – it was amusing in this particular situation, but in general it was quite a sad truth; that cut off Artania's grin and she just handed the package over, then strapped her bag back shut and in place.

Caius' nimble fingers worked quickly in the way of tearing the seal open and unrolling the bunch of scrolls that came apart once their ties with each other were broken. His eyes darted from side to side as he skimmed through an enormous mass of text, an ability to essentialize that Artania simply had to commend in her mind. Of course, it was but another side effect of the way his life had turned out.

"Yes, yes, very interesting," he mumbled expressly to himself in the end, then poised the same scrutinizing gaze on the young woman and seemed to think for a bit. "So. It says here the Emperor wants me to make you a Novice in the Blades."

Artania's jaw dropped, only on a mental level, since she had too much in the way of self control to show her awe through any physical means. She knew all kinds of senseless tell-tale about the Blades; they were rumored to be the Emperor's own secret agents, his eyes and ears in all provinces of the wide-spread Empire of Tamriel. Only then did she seem to realize that the package had slipped from her mind in such a way that it did not even induce enough curiosity for her to try and glimpse what it said and contained. Maybe magic had been involved and dulled her natural curiosity in such a way.

Caius Cosades cleared his throat in a highly unceremonious fashion. "You'll be following my orders," he said dryly. "Let me know when you're ready to receive them."

"No, I will not!" she objected mechanically, by a sheer reflex she had refined within herself in years of disobeying the authorities and standing against them. Seeing the rather surprised glance that Caius Cosades cast her way, she smirked and shoved her hands carelessly in her pockets with an apologetic shrug. "I don't care about the Emperor. Sorry."

"Nice choice," the man commented to himself, obviously about the abilities of whoever had decreed she was the one to carry the message to him. Or at least that was what Artania thought, though the strange look he next gave her, and the way his face darkened behind it, did not look comforting at all. "Listen, you don't really have much of a choice. This is Morrowind; still and Imperial province. You look smart – surely you're getting the drift?"

Indeed, Artania understood what he meant very well. "I'll... think about it," she promised dejectedly. "But don't rush me."

"You will return, then, for your orders," said a confident Caius. "Perhaps it's not good for you to start right now anyway. Look at you. Lack of experience personified. Tell you what... take these..."

His speech had turned to mumbles progressively as he turned away and opened a small drawer on the side of his corner table. From there, he pulled out a small bag and counted out two hundred septims, which he handed to Artania.

"But I have..." The rogue cut herself off in time. This was ridiculous; she was getting money and she had just been about to deny them? "Thanks."

"I knew you'd see some sense," nodded Caius with a smile as she pocketed the money. "Use those to buy some useful equipment, or to train your combat. Or whichever other 'art' you wish."

"Yeah... I will..." Artania accepted, though not whole-heartedly. _I knew you'd see some sense._ Now she knew why she had first wanted to refuse the money, but it was too late. Dirty Imperial money, obtained by exploiting the poor. Maybe.

"Well, it's dark already," the man remarked calmly. "Since you'll be a Blade and I'm here all day and can sleep any time, you can use my bed to rest. Just don't steal anything from around here."

"You mean.. rest at your place?" Artania asked, perplexed.

"Or at the house of any other Blade," Caius shrugged. "I'll give you a list of them when you've done me a first favor. Right now, here'll have to do."

"No, thanks," the rogue's decision was made instantly. "I'll guess I just have to find a tavern."

"Suit yourself. Let me see," Caius mused for a bit, then obviously an idea came to him. "Yes. For your sort, I'd suggest the Lucky Lockup, just by the Council Club, which is vis-a-vis of the silt strider."

"Right... Lucky Lockup," Artania took to heart, though she shrugged carelessly. "Thanks, and g'night. Don't expect me back too soon, momma."

She wasn't perfectly aware of what had given her the nerve to speak like that and she didn't care. Caius Cosades rolled eyes with his eternal patience and opened the door, inviting her out. She strolled off casually, with her hands once more shoved in her pockets. Whatever was to come, this was ceasing to look like she was as alone as she thought. And the present situation wasn't exactly different from her life in Cyrodiil.

After all, what mattered for one who could die any minute, other than the current moment?

* * *

Reldar arrived in Balmora's market square, as far as he could estimate, a few minutes before the appointed hour. Being a bit early always allowed him to study the scene and sketch a backup plan in his mind, for the case when things didn't go the way he hoped. No one was out in that part of town, though Balmora had some amount of nightlife, so he assumed the locals and guards alike had been bribed away from the market for the duration of his meeting. That was the disadvantage with the Hlaalu – they loved bribes. Now, had he been in Ald'ruhn or some other Redoran territory, things may have gone differently.

"Reldar Tures," a voice which he could attribute to another Dunmer male called to him from the shadows of the armorer's shop.

He turned, to see a dark, hooded figure standing there; he had probably missed it the first time he looked, so well concealed it was. "You're the new contact?" Reldar asked with half a sly smile, and did not give the shady one the satisfaction of appearing surprised.

"Maybe," the other one replied enigmatically. "Name's Bredvil Faryon." He came out of the shadows and stopped a few feet away, but did not remove the hood, and the folds of his long cloak were concealing whatever weapon he carried. "I heard something... unfortunate happened to the old one."

"It was an accident," Reldar excused himself with a simple shrug. "Well, basically."

"House Telvanni does not tolerate that sort of 'accidents'," Bredvil replied impassively, and perhaps grinned to himself.

"House Telvanni needs me," Reldar refused to back away a single step; he seemed quite certain of himself, though only he knew this was a huge bluff.

"Do we?" asked the hooded one with amused curiosity.

"No, but you just revealed yourself clearly as one of them."

Reldar's image of the typical outlaw was an allure of permanent elegance and a personal aura of charm, no matter of the other involved factors. That was why he first took the time to chuckle as he dipped a most respectful bow, as low as his rush permitted him, and only then took off before the other could react. The dart was thrown too late and it missed him, causing a bang against Ra'Virr the trader's front door. _He should be busy explaining that... maybe,_ Reldar thought to himself as he climbed down some extremely dark stairs into a humid and mostly unused alley between the backs of houses and shops on both sides. From there, he took a few turns and crossed quickly to the bank of the Odai River. Just as he came back out into the light, he bumped right into a figure he had seen that day already.

He overcame his surprise sooner than the other did, and he thought quickly.

"I need your help," Reldar and a lost-looking Artania told each other at the same time.

The Imperial rogue was just as awed as him, but while she tried to speak again, the Dunmer grabbed her hand and pulled her away. "No time," he explained to her unceremoniously, offering the most charming smile he could muster over his shoulder at that speed. Thus, the question of where she was being taken remained unanswered for Artania.


	5. Deception

**CHAPTER FIVE**

**Deception**

"You can slow down now, even stop and rest if you like," Reldar announced at one point, once they had jogged a good way out of Balmora in a direction Artania guessed as the North.

It was thick night by then and he was holding up a traveling lantern, trying to glimpse the road ahead of them, though, by the way he moved, it seemed he knew it pretty well already. From the distance, all kinds of noises that he appeared to be categorizing as normal reached their ears; Artania had asked about a couple of them, thus identifying the howl of a nix-hound and the rumble of a small rock when it rolled down along a slope.

The rogue looked almost grateful when she heard stopping was all right and she didn't take too much time with complying. She collapsed seated on the first rock she could spot in the dark, on the road's edge. From there, she drifted back up almost instantly, letting out a small shriek and jerking away in a hurry.

"What is it?" the Dunmer inquired of her, looking pretty unaffected, as if he had been imagining several silly things able to drive her like that.

"A rat," she muttered, pointing at one side of the rock. "Never been too fond of them, but actually sitting on one..."

"Indeed, a cataclysm," he made fun of her, as he was removing the object of her distress with a swift kick. "There; now you can sit."

"No, thanks," Artania continued to mumble. "Who knows what else I might run into..."

The Dunmer shrugged and didn't wait much more before taking the seat himself; then, he looked up at her, his red eyes glowing faintly in the night. "So," he began casually. "What were _you_ running from?"

"I wasn't running," she answered, rather amused. "I was just... err... lost. Again." Quickly, she changed the subject back to what she had originally thought of. "_You_, on the other hand, looked pretty eager to get away from something."

He chuckled a little, contemplating her for a few moments, in silence. "You sound as if you've just exposed a liar."

"Well, didn't I?"

"I never said I wasn't running," he noted to her. "Anyway, to make the long story short; I can show you around until you get some idea of the land... if you won't mind the occasional hunters coming after me."

"Oh, wonderful," Artania remarked, an amused smile starting to form on her lips. "And how long until they make me a target, too?"

"They won't," he replied promptly, like he had been expecting the question, then shrugged. "Let's continue along; I'll explain as we go, but let's not be a target for wild animals."

He stood up and took the lead again, with the lantern held in front to reveal safe portions they could step on. Artania followed, confirming his suspicion that she thought him her best option for the time being, despite his problems.

"The Telvanni always have a precise idea about who they need to dispose of," he explained to her in detail. "They're a pretty recluse House, who would avoid causing any scandal of proportions."

"How could my death cause one of those?" she asked, sounding a bit wary of the unknown.

"You tell me," he turned his head a little to show her his smirk and lock eye contact for a moment. "I heard you were asking for old Caius Cosades. The man has some important relations around the land, though no one knows exactly who or what he is."

Artania knew, and she could have easily divulged the secret to this Dunmer who had become her traveling companion, but she chose not to. In truth, she had been thinking about the mysterious tasks she was to accomplish for the Emperor, or whoever else, while a 'subordinate' in the Blades. Curiosity was almost innate for her, so strong that it was nearly enough of a reason for her to agree and serve, if only to find out what was happening.

"I'm no one important; surely you can see that?" she tried to persuade the Dunmer, though she realized she wasn't quite sure of the truth in her words at that moment.

"Never imagined you were," he replied. "But as long as you have some sort of allegiance, you'll not be marked without a real reason."

"I think I understand that," she confirmed, nodding. "So... where do you intend to hide? Where are we going?"

"I'm not going to hide," he said simply. "I'm a busy man these days."

The rogue had to admire him for that, even just a little; she knew few people who wouldn't try to lose their track if their lives were in any danger. She knew that he cared; it was always like that, people feared death and clung to any chance they were given to stay alive. But there was a certain dignity in not showing how frightened you were, in being able to go on without a single word of self-pity. He had done it so naturally, had already adapted to the situation without even making that first attempt, the one that would prove how futile it was to hope you could turn all the tides around.

"We're going to Caldera, a small town dedicated to the mining of ebony," he offered more clarifications, once a few moments had gone by in silence. "It's a short and quite safe walk from Balmora. We can use the Mages' Guild there to reach a bigger settlement."

"I see," the rogue expressed her ambiguous feelings about that. "It would be nice to know exactly which one you have in mind, and why."

"I have a service to perform in Ald'ruhn, for my House," he replied to her. "You realize why I'm not going to give you any other details."

Artania nodded; after all, she had just kept information from him a few minutes earlier, and not so openly. "Your House?" she inquired.

"There are only three of the original si-" He interrupted himself abruptly; somehow, the rogue was sure he had bitten his tongue. Then, he corrected. " ...five houses still holding ground in Vvardenfell District."

"Six houses?" she brought him back in the original direction, almost taking pleasure in causing him that small discomfort.

"The subject is... disputed," he chose his words carefully. "By the Tribunal Temple, especially, which is why speaking of it doesn't do anyone good."

"Ah, ancient religious stuff and all that," she understood.

"Partly," he said, nodding, as he was stopping to check on a portion of the road whose cobble had sunken deeper into the ground and wasn't as easily distinguishable as the rest. Since everything was in order, they continued along.

With all that, she forgot about her previous question regarding which House he was in.

* * *

They had reached the Caldera Guild of Mages in the middle of night, but still the scholars were awake, as always, reading their scrolls, dabbling in the various properties of items and concocting all kinds of potions. Reldar had always been intrigued; it was quite beyond the limits of his comprehension why anyone would make it the sole purpose of their life to research and write the results on paper. And still, a great number of such personae existed, especially among the Bretons and Altmers, but not without contribution from the other races.

To avoid hassle with traveling, Artania had agreed to the Dunmer's proposition and taken the time to fill an application form and swear an oath, becoming an Associate of the Guild. That was what most people did, anyway; the actual scholars would have been surprised of how many members their guild had gained due to the quick teleportation service. But they had little time to realize what was happening, too often lost in their studies.

Once the formalities were out of the way, the two had paid a small fee to be teleported in the Ald'ruhn Guild of Mages, through a channeling spell formed between two devices with odd shapes. Artania had displayed some amount of curiosity at first, regarding how the process went about, exactly, but she had quickly lost that when the explanations proved to be too technical. Finally, Reldar had lodged her in one of the guildhall's rooms, a comfort which he had described to her as another benefit of joining.

Now he was free to go about his own business, which was none of her concern. Unfortunately so, since it only gave the rogue time to think about Lucius, as she lay on her bed, wrapped in a warm blanket and trying to fall asleep. His face simply wouldn't leave her mind; and all the things they had done together, all their small-talk and jokes... everything. She wondered where he was now and whether he even knew they had taken her so far away from him. Probably not.

Meanwhile, unknown to her, the Dunmer was planning her future in the Redoran Council Hall, a quarter of the huge complex Ald'ruhn was popular for. He stood in front of a Redguard woman wearing sumptuous garments, much like the ones his armor concealed; if there was one good thing about Morrowind, then that was the fact anyone could afford good clothes if they could fight well and roam the land. He could barely see this one's features through his helm's narrow visor-line, but she seemed pretty young and he knew her by the name of Neminda.

"By the way," he perfectly feigned having just remembered something, when in fact he had been thinking of the best way to word it out ever since he had walked in. He tucked the scroll she had given him away carefully and then continued. "There's a girl who would like to join... I've met her recently and she seems pretty reliable. She's new, though, that's bittergreen green. But the good thing about that is we can be sure she's no spy."

"Really?" Neminda seemed interested in that possibility. "Why haven't you brought her?"

"I wanted to consult with you first," Reldar explained tactfully. "I'll bring her tomorrow – she's probably asleep now."

"Fine with me," the Redguard agreed, scowling a little. "Anything else? Not to appear rude or anything, but I have two other matters to attend and it's getting late."

"No, nothing," Reldar began to withdraw. "Good luck with that." He waved slightly, in a half-formal gesture that didn't appear to have received much effort from his part. In truth, his self-control was being tested heavily in order to give his every move such perfection.

At least he had finally freed himself of this little issue. He was pretty certain that actually convincing Artania to enter the fray wouldn't be so difficult. It was true – House Redoran wasn't exactly her kind of thing, but the rogue needed to be directed towards the least of three evils before anyone pulled her into another, by force. He could help train her combat skills and she would get by just fine.

Why exactly he was acting for the good of this little girl, he couldn't quite explain.

* * *

The room was chilly, shielded from the sun by thick velvet curtains of a deep purple color that reflected the light in odd ways, forming different shadows on the glass panes left uncovered. One of the windows was open just a crack and the wind would sometimes find its way through, engaging the curtain in a small dance of sorts and creating a play of shadow and light on the floor. Now, with evening approaching, the glow in the glass was beginning to fade away, leaving room for one to imagine the descent of the sun.

Somewhere in the background, perhaps out in the courtyard, music was being played; it was the quality music of the nobles, elegant and beautifully composed of several synchronized instruments. Listening to it he had been for the entire afternoon, as he sat there on the sofa and absently watched that one same window and all the animation around it. But this was the end of it – his mother had walked in and, soon after, his father followed.

"Ah, Lucius!" the woman cried with excitement. "Good thing you're here; I was wanting to talk to you."

The son barely bothered to give her any notice and continued to look out, at the small streak of blue sky he could distinguish between the curtain's folds, where the two halves came together. He said nothing at all, remained as silent as he was still.

"Why, you haven't even removed your armor!" the mother remarked, somewhat outraged. "Don't you think you've spent enough time in it already? Besides, it's not healthy."

"No, mother," he retorted coldly, as if he was doing her a service by speaking. "I haven't spent enough time in it. I'm supposed to be doing this regularly, at least eight hours a day."

The woman looked aghast. "What has gotten into you?" she asked, fanning herself methodically with a decorated ensemble of feathers.

"Nothing, mother," the soldier sighed. "I was just thinking of all the duties I'm not performing."

"My son," the father, who had so far been busy putting away the ceremonial weapon and decorations he wore every time he visited the Imperial Palace, thought it proper to intervene. "It would be foolish of you to exhaust yourself where no one else bothers. I have explained this to you before."

"I know, father," Lucius replied sadly, shaking his head. "That doesn't mean I have to like it. To like seeing our society in such decay."

The woman touched her husband's arm, as if she had made a revelation. "Oh, I understand," she said, smiling in a sly manner. "He must be in love; just look at the dreamy eyes."

In truth, Lucius felt like clutching his head in his hands; he barely kept from rolling his eyes and telling the both of them to stop bothering him.

"This is what your mother and I wanted to speak to you about," the father began solemnly. "When are you going to search for a proper wife?"

"What?" Lucius was unable to contain his surprise for a moment. Then, clearing his throat gently, he recomposed his serious expression. "I assure you, I already have someone in mind," he lied to their face unblinkingly, turning to look straight into their eyes. "I would just prefer the identity to be a secret for now."

"But Lucius," his mother objected. "Why wouldn't you want to tell your parents? Do you somehow think we would disagree?"

_You would_, he thought to himself, _if I didn't have the sense to know the marriage I want would be doomed anyway._

"Perhaps," the son tried not to lie again, flashing the slight trace of an enigmatic smile. "You see, she is... different."

He had told a truth there and was certain that they would draw conclusions for him, making his job easier.

"You mean she's not an Imperial," the father was prompt to do just that. "Well, it can create some discomfort, indeed. Tell us whenever you think yourself ready."

Lucius neither confirmed, nor denied. He was out of this mess for the time being and he could, once more, focus on finding out where _she_ was. The real woman he loved, not the one he and his parents' imagination had just created.

* * *

"Good 'morning'," a still sleepy Artania perceived Reldar's voice only barely, irony included. "Come on; get up. It's almost noon."

She stirred a little, struggling with the suffocating comfort and warmth that simply wouldn't let her go. The bed was simple, quite old and rather creaky, but compared to the street, the prison cell, the carriage, the ship's hold and the silt strider, it looked like luxury to the rogue. She had slept like a log, even to that late hour of the day; she realized she wasn't even conscious of the exact moment Reldar had entered her room.

"So what?" she mumbled, rubbing her eyes. "Do I have any important business to conduct?" She heard him maneuver something that sounded like plates and goblets and could faintly make out his presence near the room's small table.

"Here, catch," he said and casually tossed some small object her way.

The thing, whatever it was, had quite a rough feel and hit her forehead pretty hard, then rolled down and came to rest on the pillow, right by her nose. If nothing else had woken her up fully so far, the impact and its hollow sound had that effect.

"What the...?" She raised her head and opened eyes upon a small shiny gem, by all means a diamond. Hadn't it been for the surprise, she would have asked about the new element she noticed in Reldar's attire, but, given the small gemstone, she forgot. "How did you know about _this_?"

"It's what Sugar-Lips tells all rookies to bring her," he explained with a shrug, coming to sit on the bed's edge. "She says it's for a client, but in fact she never pays the thief for these. They're just a test." He offered the woman a goblet filled with what looked like plain water.

"Why are you rushing me?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at the goblet without taking it yet.

He shrugged. "I figured you might want to see Ald'ruhn before a storm begins; I reckon one's bound to arrive in a couple of hours."

"Storm?" Artania asked, though she did take the goblet and drank from it this time.

"We're in a region called 'The Ashlands' for a reason," Reldar explained. "It is barren and inhospitable, for the most part and ash storms are frequent phenomenons here – the wind gains speed and blows the ash and dust from various craters and slopes into the air. Sometimes, diseases can be contacted through these particles."

"Oh," the rogue remained speechless for a moment and handed him back the goblet as she slank past him and to her feet. "People actually live here?"

"You'd be surprised," he said chuckling lightly, and stood up beside her; the goblet was carelessly dismissed. "I've brought you something to eat, as well." He pointed to the plate he had left on the table, apparently filled with some cooked meat and vegetables; all harboring strange dingy colors.

"What in the name of..." the rogue gaped at it. "What _is_ that, anyway?"

"Hound meat and saltrice," he clarified, a bit uncertain as to what to make of her reaction.

"Right..."

Artania figured, from his expression, that the food was a regular meal, at least on a local scale. More or less, that meant she could consume it without fearing whatever strange and unpleasant consequence. Grabbing the knife and fork, she began to work in the sense of filling her stomach... and thwarting the hunger she was most disturbingly conscious of.

About half an hour later, the two of them were exiting the Guild of Mages and emerging into a scene that looked like the imagination of a bard or story-teller to the rogue. In the first place, she had never seen such an architectural style before; it had been pretty obvious from the inside that she was in a strange-looking building which consisted of mostly an underground section, but she had never imagined it to be shaped like the carapace of some creature or another. The form alone was enough to give one the impression that simple stone wasn't what these houses were made of, but much rather some crystallized rough shell of a crustacean.

As if that wasn't enough, the ground the entire town was built on had an oddly violet color and was cracked everywhere, having swallowed the cobble and formed a pattern of its own around it. Whatever few bushes poked out from between the houses were dry and almost black, lacked any form of leaf and presented a few spikes as the only other element than the stems.

"I can't believe it..." the rogue mumbled incoherently as she stood staring around her, at the few silhouettes pacing the street, each heading toward some place or another that was none of her concern.

Reldar seemed amused all through giving her the time to recompose herself. "Come on," he finally urged her. "Don't look so new around here, or you might get picked on."

"Lovely," she muttered; it had been more than enough to help her contain any further surprise and wonder as she followed him in the direction of a short ensemble of stairs. "Where are we going?"

"To get you some new clothes, that are more proper," he clarified on a casual tone, speaking as if they had agreed on that from the very beginning.

"What?" the rogue's reaction had little delay in coming. "What's wrong with my... who's gonna...?" She drifted from one idea to the other, unable to fully voice any of them out.

"You'll pay me back whenever you can," he said, shrugging. "It's not difficult to profit in Morrowind, if you know where to look. Meanwhile, there's something else I wanted to talk to you about."

Artania looked at him from the corners of her eye, trying not to grumble when she spoke. "I'm listening."

"You should join one of the three Houses," he began, without much in the way of going around the subject. "For protection and to have a stable, _local_ background. Don't get me wrong, Thieves and Mages Guilds are fine; but they're foreign."

"I..." Artania paused for a deep breath. "I understand what you're trying to say. Which one would you recommend, then?"

"We're in Redoran territory right now," he continued. "They don't exactly focus on people with your... 'skills', but I would still choose them for you. None of the Houses is perfect, but I have come to believe this is the one where you have to humiliate yourself least."

"What other options do I have?" she asked, flashing him a sharp glance and trying to detect any trace of manipulation from his part. Nothing was there that she could detect.

"The Hlaalu, on one hand," he said. "It is a House of merchants and subtle manipulators, I would say; thus, their call is the closest to yours. But the things you would need to do for their support... I do not see you as corrupt as that."

"Cyrodiil number two," the rogue concluded. "I know what you mean."

"The other option is House Telvanni," he continued, nodding approvingly. "Their aversion for outlanders is famous even in Morrowind and you are no skilled mage. You'd have to be able to perform miracles for them to let you in."

The rogue sighed. "What's Redoran all about?"

"They at least hold the pretense of old-fashioned honor," Reldar explained, with a small smile. "Their structure is far from flawless and corruption-lacking and they don't like the Empire much... but they will be fair to you, if you are to them."

Artania stopped dead in her tracks, in such a manner that the Dunmer felt compelled to imitate her action; for a prolonged moment, they stood there, none looking at the other, both conscious of the tension between them.

"I am not lying to you," he spoke quietly, guessing her motives and anticipating her question. "I swear."

Artania desperately wished she would be able to find something in his words that she could doubt, but there was no such thing there. The only attitude he displayed was a serious one, the sole purpose seemed to be helping her, though why he would do as much for a stranger, from the people of those who had subdued his country, was beyond her comprehension.

"I will trust your judgment," she said, keeping her back straight and tone firm, as she nodded slowly. "What must I do?"

"You must look capable and calculated... and appear as a good fighter," the Dunmer resumed clarifying matters, gesturing for her to follow as he walked again. "Don't worry about actually being one; you will have enough time to train _after_ you get accepted."

* * *

Artania couldn't believe what she was doing, much less the clothing she wore. She had never been this close to luxury in her entire life, not to mention actually able to touch it... to _wear_ it. Oddly enough, the simple swishing of the skirt's multiple layers, of which the exterior one was furred on the edges, made her walk different, more elegant. Each step fell equally and almost felt like flying to her, after the crude boots had been replaced by comfortable shoes. The feel of silk on her skin and the tiny, delicate refinements the shirt, and the belt clasped around her waist for an extravagant decoration, were adorned with were enough to change her entire attitude and give her confidence.

Reldar had laughed at the irony when he had seen her stroll about the place and wonder at her new attire. After that, he had dealt with her hair, pulling it back and gathering it close to the top of her head, then securing it with a hair tie; he only left the few strands that were too short hanging loosely on the sides of her head, forming an asymmetric model, since the ones on the right were a bit longer than those on the left. Only when that was done, he had seemed satisfied with the change, while the rogue herself was displaying an expression of complete awe at her new look.

Finally, they had left the clothier's shop and headed for a set of three doors, marked with another of the red flags whose writing Artania was unable to decipher. She wasn't totally thrilled with the place they were in, either; she hadn't been ever since Reldar had explained it was constructed from the shell of a giant crab, whose ancient specie was now extinct.

At present, they were just going through the central one of the three doors and entering a large receiving room with an assortment of decorative plants in the middle and a domed ceiling above, imitating the greater-scaled one of the entire complex.

"Act like you know your way around and everything will be fine," Reldar instructed his protégée. "One more thing – no matter what happens, do not appear surprised."

Artania, nodded; deceiving people was one of the things she could do pretty well. Flashing a facade smile of just the perfect dimensions and with that ambiguous allure that wouldn't allow anyone to guess her true intentions, she followed the Dunmer toward the hall's opposite side, where a Redguard woman occupied an armchair. By the time the two arrived in her vicinity, she was waving off her current interlocutor, a tall Nord who had apparently come to make a complaint of sorts, judging by the stuck-up way he departed.

"The lady would be Neminda, Drillmaster and Recruiter of House Redoran," Reldar opened the conversation, addressing the rogue; then, he turned toward the Redguard woman. "And this is the girl I was telling you about."

"My name is Artania," 'the girl' replied with a curt reverence made in a way she thought to be proper. It didn't matter much, as Reldar had explained to her; if she did anything odd-looking, Neminda, who had been stuck in Morrowind for so long, would most likely think it was a new trend in the more civilized areas of Tamriel.

"A pleasure," the Redguard retorted coldly, keeping her nose high in the air, though without the air that she really thought herself superior. "Please, have seats." She gestured fluidly, pointing at two other armchairs.

The Dunmer and Imperial both thanked her politely and occupied their given seats, then waited for her to begin. First, Neminda gave Artania an appraising look from head to toes, delaying any judgment.

"Are you sure you want to join House Redoran?" she finally asked, quite undecided. "Remember that you cannot join any other Great House once you have made an oath to us."

"Yes, I am certain," Artania replied sternly, as she had been instructed to.

"Very well," Neminda's balance was tipped. "You must swear in front of me, and with Felsen as a witness..."

The rogue was barely able to register anything from what was required of her in the next few moments, incapable of taking her mind off the name the Redguard had just given to Reldar. She eyed the Dunmer quickly, but he had maintained his facade and looked just as tranquil as ever; again, she noticed the thing he was wearing for no obviously apparent reason, about which she had forgotten to ask. Finally, when Neminda stopped speaking, Artania was forced to smile complacently in order to gain some time to recall what she had just heard.

"I pledge my services to Great House Redoran," she spoke quietly, when she thought she had gotten the pieces in order. "I will learn and respect the teachings of the Tribunal Temple and will not openly cross the interests of my House and superiors in any way, without a serious reason. I so swear."

"Good," Neminda nodded, smiling. "You are now Hireling Artania of House Redoran; our trainers and personnel will be informed. Whenever you are ready to serve your house, I will have duties for you, and in time you can be advanced, which will also be done through me. At least for now."

"I understand," Artania accepted the new rules. "I will return as soon as I have settled; I have only recently arrived from Cyrodiil and am still getting accustomed to the land."

"Naturally," Neminda agreed, then dismissed the both of them with a single jest and stood up, skirts brushing behind her. "I can be found in this complex; just ask for Lady Neminda."

The Redguard left, after a curt nod the Dunmer's way; the two stood up in silence and headed for the same door they had used to come in. They exited and continued along, passing by a couple of guards who were patrolling the respective section at the moment.

"This will become known to the right people, I assure you," Reldar said as soon as they were away from any ears too close to them. "Each House has spies inside the others... an inevitable factor."

"Isn't that so?" Artania snapped, in a bitter-ironic fashion. "Felsen?" She remembered the question she had already been twice prevented from asking. "What's with the helm, anyway?"

He chuckled, then looked around, as if trying to make an idea related to where exactly they were. By that time, they had gone past the middle of Ald'ruhn-under-Skar, a territory which he deemed safe, since he took the helm off with one fluid move. His hair looked even less cared for now than before, but the expression on his face was serene, even amused. He shrugged apologetically.

"I suppose this wouldn't be the best time to tell you I'm a Hlaalu?" he asked, feigning innocence.

"You're a _what_?" Artania couldn't believe her ears. "Then why did you have me join the Redoran? And what were _you_ doing with them, under a fake identity?"

"Slow down, we have all day," he answered, laughing. "It was a mission from my House, nothing more. I was supposed to deceive Neminda into giving me some coded document. With the helm as my cover, she mistook me for a Redoran called Felsen Sethandus."

"You stupid..." Artania forfeited the curse before she actually spoke it, then tried to recover her calmer tone. "Do you realize that you are just telling me you did my House a disservice?"

"Crystal clear," he remarked, with only a bit of sarcasm, then opened the door to the exterior for her to step out.

The rogue stalked away from him, unnerved, and went straight into a strong current carrying thick dust, through which she could barely distinguish a thing. Instinctively, she rose her hands to shield her eyes and turned her back against the wind, as it howled past her with no intention of ceasing. Reldar stopped a couple of feet away from where she stood desolately, with the helm back on his head.

The storm had come to top everything and Artania was more furious than ever, as far as she could recall, with her nerves on the brink of a breakdown. "If I were able to, I'd ... hurt you!" she yelled at him, trying to cover the rumor all around.

He laughed, as he stepped closer; she didn't want to back away from him, though that was the first impulse, and she stayed fixed in position until his face – helm, much rather – was mere inches from her, and he was looking down on her.

"But you cannot," he retorted dryly. "While I can do anything to _you_. Calm down, child, and leave the scheming to me; be glad I chose to help you, and not to take advantage."

They faced each other with the wind batting at both of them, as still as two rocks who would not budge, not even when whipped at by the sea's frantic play of waves. None would give in. Finally, it was Reldar who realized the impracticality of what they were doing and pulled away.

"It is not wise to be out in the storm," he announced. "Come, we should find the Ald Skar Inn."

With that, the Dunmer walked away, choosing a direction to the right of Artania. Once again, the rogue was faced with the option of either following him, despite various factors, or going out on her own. And once again, she walked right behind him, unable to determine his intent, but ever so curious and eager to do so. He was another puzzle, of many, that she wished to solve.


	6. Altering Courses

**Author's Notes:** _I must thank everyone for the constant support I have received, even despite my idleness. I just needed to mention that the very existence of this chapter is fully owed to the readers, since the author is such a lazy airhead._

* * *

**CHAPTER SIX**

**Altering Courses**

The day had been exceedingly dull, perhaps even more so than the others, thought Caius Cosades as he lay on his bed, a scroll in one hand. He was absently inhaling from the tube of his skooma pipe and puffing out white clouds while his eyes squinted to read. More letters and reports, out of which he was expected to select the important ones, then code them and make sure they were delivered to the Emperor through one of the courier agents. Subsequently, those were under his supervision also, which only meant more responsibility; if one of them were to desert or betray their goal, Caius would bear part of the guilt, for not being careful enough. To top all that, the Emperor had not bothered to reply in a very long while.

... Until a few days ago.

Now that he had benefited from more time to think, Caius strongly suspected there was more to see in that girl (What was her name, again? Artania, yes.) than the regular miscreant, if one managed to get past her rather _outspoken_ manner. He had to admit that, for him, she had meant a most welcome break from the routine, however uncouth and irritating. For a moment, he wished (though he doubted) that she would return, thus enabling him to probe deeper.

Then, something caught his eye in the report he was reading and he forgot about both the girl and his skooma pipe.

_... The Ashlanders are troubled, perhaps more so than usual. I heard word that the Tribunal Temple hunted down and killed another possible 'Nerevarine', but I cannot say more on the subject. As you know, the Nerevarine is supposedly a prophet of sorts, perceived as the reincarnation of the historically attested general Indoril Nerevar. His role in the prophecy would be to save Morrowind and the Dunmer from their impending doom, but this is a mere deduction of my own. The Temple apparently persecutes this cult because "all heresy must be purged", but it is my firm belief there are other motivations. I will dedicate my time to investigating these..._

The report continued with promises, as usual, and even suggested that the Blades should infiltrate the Temple itself and work from the inside; thus, Caius was told nothing new and had the certainty no fruitful results would be obtained there. As always. He had tried his best to obey his Emperor's commands and dig up information on the 'Nerevarine' and 'Sixth House', but the agent he had sent to the only reliable source he knew of had not yet given any signs of a return.

The Spymaster nearly dropped the inhaler tube when a knock on the door took him by surprise. He was not expecting any guests in particular, but the arrival of one was still possible, so he carefully hung the thin hose away and concealed the scroll, then moved to open.

To his complete and utter disbelief, the one that nodded curtly to him in greeting was none other than a pale, weary-looking Artania. Her hair was messy and her breath slightly accelerated, as if she had been fleeing in a hurry. Caius allowed her to enter and slowly closed the door, as calm and unaffected as usual, though he had to wonder about her new attire. The clothes were definitely elegant, chosen in the way he had seen natives wore them, but not maintained properly; the skirt's folds had begun to look tattered and dust adorned them in no small amount.

"Well?" he turned to face her, wearing a quizzical look.

"Listen," she began, rushed, gesturing in a manner meant to be persuasive, which she apparently used so often it had grown into reflex. "I give you my word that I'll work for you, for as long as you need me, but I need a place to hide."

Straight to the point. She had to be in a hurry.

"Really?" Caius tried to conceal the trace of amusement he felt. "What did you do, if you don't mind my asking?"

"You see," she muttered, trying to speak casually. "I – ah – took possession of something without permission from its rightful owner."

"Interesting," the Spymaster commented mechanically. "A thief then, are you?"

"Uh..." she hesitated. "I prefer 'rogue'. I'm sure you would agree the term is far more suitable; stealing isn't all I do."

For a few moments, Caius Cosades' expert eye studied her in silence. The man found himself having significant difficulties in 'reading' her the way he was able to do with most others. This one had spent too much time pretending to be one thing or another, until her shiftiness had become the only apparent trait.

"You're pretty well-spoken for a _rogue_," he noted coolly, accentuating the term she had suggested on purpose.

Artania snorted discreetly. "You people think we're all stupid. In fact, most of us are actors, that's all."

"Actors?" the Spymaster inquired, not without a glint of bemused interest.

"Yes," the girl nodded, grimacing in a mildly derisive fashion. Her superiority no doubt sprang from the fact that the current topic was her territory and an unknown land to the man. "You look down from your wonder-world, and all you see is that beggar in the corner, dressed in rags, barely able to mumble those three words of his plea for help. You give him a gold coin, or more, because it makes you look good in the eyes of others."

"And what do _you_ see, then?" Caius asked.

By the stern promptness with which she responded, he knew she had been expecting the question. After all, she had been making use of a certain oratorical skill and leading the conversation there all along. He had just complied, intrigued and curious to see what would follow.

"I see him at night," she continued, her now serious gaze fixed on the man before her. "When he withdraws to a dark alley, drops the rags and then emerges again as a more or less respectable citizen. For a few hours, he is rich... with _your_ gold. The next day, he returns to his masquerade."

"I see," Caius acknowledged thoughtfully; from his perspective, things looked a bit different. "So... what you are so proudly telling me is that you pay for a few hours of comfort with a day of public humiliation."

"_Most of us_ do," she clarified with a sly grin.

"_Most of us_ facilitate it," he retorted.

"Precisely," she nodded coyly. "Which is why I prefer to wave the stolen purse in front of its former owner before I make off with it."

"With what that report told me of you," Caius commented. "You seem to 'make it off' straight into prison."

He wondered, as she was left speechless for a while, what she had hoped to gain by portraying herself as the exception to a rule. His favor, maybe? She thought that, if she appeared to be special, he would display more consideration?

"Regardless," he continued coolly. "You _can_ be of use to me, while also hiding, as you require."

"A practical man, aren't you?" she commented, glad for the change. "What do you have in mind?"

"What I currently need is information," he began to expose the situation. "I have a contact – Hasphat Antabolis, the Drillmaster of the Balmora Fighters Guild. He's lived in Morrowind all his life, knows the natives, talks a lot with backcountry mercenaries, the whole deal."

"Uh-huh," the girl nodded in understanding. "And you want me to play fetch between you and this guy?"

"No," Caius shook his head. "Bear with me. Hasphat thinks of himself as a scholar, and he's particularly interested in Dwemer ruins and artifacts. I've sent one of my agents to him and Hasphat asked for a favor in return for his information."

"Let me guess," Artania ventured. "The agent hasn't returned."

"Indeed," Caius nodded. "Not since he came to tell me Hasphat had asked him to go to Arkngthand, the Dwemer ruins nearby, and fetch a certain 'puzzle box' for him."

"Tell me one thing. Having Dwemer artifacts in one's possession is illegal, yes? Then why don't you have this Hasphat arrested and force the info out of him?"

"And what would I gain from that? I would lose a contact who could be far more useful to me where he currently stands. He doesn't even smuggle those artifacts for profit; he studies them for a while, then ships them to Cyrodiil through me."

Caius watched the young rogue for a few moments, as she was doing her best not to change facial expressions while she considered possibilities. Finally, her scheming nature lost to the voice of reason and she sighed.

"So, you want me to go and see what happened, right?" she asked, with a look of resignation.

"Yes. And... you can hide in the ruins."

"Assuming they're safe," she muttered. "But you're right, no one would think me stupid enough to seek refuge there."

Once again, the Spymaster found himself pleasantly diverted by this odd figure. "There may be bandits," he admitted. "If you're not safe in the ruins, come back here. I'm sure we can find another hideout."

"_Or_... you could sell me out," she retorted, then shrugged. "But I guess that's a stupid thought, you don't even know who's after me."

"Not to mention the Emperor has an obvious interest in you," the man insisted on drawing her attention to other facts. "Or that you might be more useful to me than whatever they could offer."

By the look on her face, Artania's thoughts on the matter seemed to be different; and she didn't mean they could offer skooma, oblivious to the pipe as she appeared. Caius could tell that clearly; he wondered...

"Fine," she interrupted his reasoning. "How do I get to those ruins?"

* * *

When he went to wake her and found that she had gone, Reldar couldn't tell whether he had been expecting the moment or he should be surprised. Artania had looked like the type who would seek to gain his knowledge before taking a nonchalant leave. And yet, she had even left him two hundred septims, probably what she had thought to be the cost of her new clothes. A regular scoundrel always tried to pay off as few debts as possible.

_And she didn't think she would make a fine Redoran_, he thought to himself with a slight smile.

Nevertheless, he had not spent more than that meandering around the matter and had moved on to his own business.

He found the Balmora Mages Guild, as he stepped out from between the teleportation area's pillars, to be the same cozy, quiet place. Everyone was studying the day away, seated at various desks and tables, with piles of books and scrolls at hand; the only sounds came from quills scribbling words on paper, the concoction of potions, or the occasional spellcasting practice. Some candles were dying away, neglected in their supports, which molten wax had already engulfed into awkward forms.

The Dunmer felt a few pairs of eyes on him as he passed – the scholar's fabled curiosity – but he did not pay much attention to them beyond nodding to the Khajiit Ajira, for whom he performed occasional errands in exchange for potions. He was already planning his next moves with great care. He needed only deliver those code--

_Of course._

It all made sense now. He didn't really need to check on it to know the truth, but he did so nevertheless, with all care. The coded orders he had obtained from Neminda through guile and disguise were gone, stolen from him by Artania. Right from the pocket on the inside of his shirt; she was skilled, indeed, if she had been able to perform as exquisitely as not to wake him from his light slumber.

He thought such a situation would annoy any other man, but he was oddly amused; challenges were always welcome and troubled times only increased their savor. Besides, it was a long time since he had last had a crafty opponent with no allegiance, who still bore the potential to see the truth about certain matters.

And, after all, it had been quite a long time since he had last made use of his tracking skills to follow someone around. Perhaps there was a way to find out where she had gone. The Thieves Guild saw and knew much, much more than one would suspect, and there were always possibilities...

* * *

Artania opened the book and stared at the portion on the thick cover's inside, which had some minutes ago been blank, but was no more. She still could not believe how precise this freshly sketched map (if it could even be called that) was, despite its utter simplicity. Caius Cosades had proven to be very efficient in this respect, just like he had with all other matters. She could clearly recall his unfaltering moves as he drew out the square of Balmora's walls, then the two roads, one on the North and one on on the South, both turning east and reaching two more lines disposed as parallels which stood for Foyada Mamaea. Caius had defined 'foyada' as an Ashlander term meaning 'fire-river' and this specific one as a volcanic ravine she needed to cross in order to reach the Dwemer ruins. A few scribbled notes after that, defining marks such as 'large bridge' or 'signpost', were everything the sketch needed to be complete.

The book itself was entitled 'A Short History of Morrowind', but Artania had little real interest in reading it. Or at least it was not becoming of a rebellious rogue to engage in the lecture of official Imperial texts; reading was no fun if the book wasn't banned or otherwise forbidden. Still...

"_Take the chance to get a little education," Caius had told her. "No point in being part of history if you're too ignorant to understand it."_

And Artania was forced to admit he had a good point there. (Maybe if it got boring down in the ruins and _only_ if there was enough light.)

She had been a fool to try and deceive that man into forming an untrue opinion of her and now she knew it for sure; his final look and smile before closing the door behind her had clearly demonstrated he could read more of her than other people. She couldn't help but wonder whether he would at least look into the matter of her flight and attempt to discover the pursuer's identity; she had no doubt that, if he had the slightest interest in it, he would be able to uncover the story in a relatively short while. Suddenly, working for the Emperor didn't seem such an unappealing prospect, if it meant learning survival and craftiness from men like Caius Cosades.

Finally, after what she estimated to be the better half of an hour of trudging around and making sure there were no other possible routes she was missing, Artania had added her own notes to the map. Now she stood at one end of a heavy-looking rusty old iron bridge, wide enough for three or maybe four goods wagons to cross it side by side. One such wagon was currently stationed at the other bridge, along with some crates waiting to be loaded, but the rogue could see no one moving, so she deemed it safe.

She still kept an eye out for potential owners all the way through crossing, except for a short look she risked over the pipe-like bars serving as a handrail on the sides. The foyada did not excel in depth, but the bottom of it was stacked with sharp rocks here and there and any who would fall in had little hope of making it back out. In some places, they barely allowed for the passage of one slender form who intended to use it as a route to some place called 'Ghostgate' that Caius had mentioned.

Once safely able to set foot on the ground again, on the ravine's other side, Artania spotted the ruin's walls almost immediately, a bit to her right, with just what appeared to be a sealed entrance right in front of her. All she would need to do to get there was follow an extremely short path with a bit of an ascending tendency. However, actually getting that massive door open seemed to be a bit more of a problem, as there seemed to be no keyhole or anything else.

"Now how does one get in there...?" she mused, grumbling to herself as she inspected the surroundings more thoroughly.

Soon, she spotted what looked like a lever or crank to some underground machinery she could not even begin to imagine; it was hidden almost entirely behind some protuberance in the rocky setting and that was why she hadn't been able to see it at first. It appeared to simply require a strong press downwards in order to work and fulfill whatever function it had; Artania hoped it opened the entrance into the complex.

She was so preoccupied with processing every small detail that she was barely conscious of it when something hard collided with the back of her head and she heard the impact's sounds. She barely had the time to feel the pain and become conscious of her knees beginning to buckle, before the blackness imposed on her and completely took over all of her senses.


End file.
